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®fje Htbrarp 

of fiie 

{SJntuerSttpof i^ortfj Carolina 





For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 1895, to October, 1895. 



Copyright, 1S95, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 

Library, Univ. of 
North Curolma 




Six Months — May, 1895, to October, 1895. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 



Aground in the Amazon. (Illustrated by M. J. Burns) Cap/. S. A. Swinnerton .... 1026 

Air-castle, A Real. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles B. Hudson 958 

Alice. Verse Hayden Carruth 71S 

American Authors. ( Illustrated) Brandcr Matthews 

John Greenleaf Whittier 769 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 808 

James Russell Lowell 991 

Ancient Table, An. Verse Zitella Cocke. 990 

Antwerp and " Old Antwerp." (Illustrated) Jeannette L. Gilder 952 

" Artist's Daughter, The." (Picture drawn by G. Varian) 1045 

August Woodroad, An. Poem. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Charles G. D. Roberts 813 

Autumn Song. Verse Frank Waleott Hittt 981 

Babieca, the War-horse of the Cid. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) . . .James Baldwin 841 

Ballad of Tumbledown Town, The. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed ( 

by G. Varian) S Charles L ' Benjamin »72 

" Base-Ball Sketches." (Pictures drawn by E. W. Kemble) 1003 

Battle on Wheels, A. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Edwin Asa Dix 883 

BAYARD. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) James Baldwin 998 

Bessie's Escape. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Ezra Hurlburt Stafford 824 

Bird-call, A. Poem Sara M. Chatfield 547 

Boone, Daniel. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Theodore Roosevelt 599 

Boy in Gray, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Mary Bradley 672 

Boy of the First Empire, A. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Elbridge S. Brooks 582 

686, 759, 815, 903, 982 

Bright Side, The. Verse Algernon Tassin . . .: 660 

Bronco's Best Race, The. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Cromwell Galpin 795 

Brown, T. G.; "The Child-Painter." (Illustrated from paintings by Mr. ) 

T, ' v v s ' \ John J. A'Beeket 971 

Brown) 1 y ' 

Buffalo, Musk-ox, Mountain Sheep, and Mountain Goat, The. ? 

(Illustrated) ] William T. Hornaday 674 

Camping. Verse. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Agnes Lewis Mitchill 648 

Carrier-pigeons of Santa Catalina. (Illustrated) De Witt C. Lockwood 891 

Cat-bird, The. Poem. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Z. D. Underhill 743 

Choice, My. Verse Delia Hart Stone 827 

Chris and the Wonderful Lamp. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Albert Steams 548, 629 

Clark, George Rogers. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Theodore Roosevelt 639 

Contented Fisherman, The. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 5S1 

Cushing and the "Albemarle." (Illustrated by J. O. Davidson) Theodore Roosevelt 1013 

Dame Daisy's " At Home." Verse. (Illustrated by J. Harte) Mary Rowles Jarvis 627 

Dancing Horses of Sybaris, The. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) James Baldwin 625 

Daughter of the Revolution, A. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Alice Batch Abbot 707 

Desperation, To. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) Gertrude Hall 683 

Difference, The. Verse Gertrude M. Cannon 624 

JJ~ Dragon and the Dragoon, The. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Tudor Jenks 753 

Dragonfly's Ball, The. Verse. (Illustrated by G. Varian) K.B.di Zerega 898 

*j Elves' Harvest, The. Picture, drawn by Albertine Randall Wheelan 869 

0, Energetic Elephant, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 803 

— Fair Play. Poem. (Illustrated by H. Allchin) M. M. D 951 



Fairy Godmother's Story, The. (Illustrated by G. Varian) E. Vinton Blake 740 

Finger-Play. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by Albertine Randall ) pjti /- j , OA (. 

Wheelan, from sketches by the Author) 

First Cousins. Poem. (Illustrated by G. Varian) M. B 659 

Fox Terrier and the Squirrel, The. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 591 

Gipsies, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) R. F. Bunner 814 

Gladness. Poem Charles B. Going 718 

Good-Morning Round the World. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Martha Burr Banks 636 

" Good-night." (Picture drawn by Albertine Randall Wheelan) 990 

Grandmama. Verse Helen Hopkins 626 

Grumpity Man, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frank H. Sweet 933 

Guilty Conscience, A. Picture, drawn by E. W. Kemble 959 

Hans the Otherwise. ( Illustrated by the Author) John Bennett 1016 

Helios's Four-IN-ha.nd. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) James Bald-win 576 

Hero-Tales from American History. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) .... Theodore Roosevelt 

Daniel Boone and the Founding of Kentucky 599 

George Rogers Clark and the Conquest of the Northwest 639 

King's Mountain 7 22 

The Cruise of the " Wasp." 847 

" Remember the Alamo." 927 

Lieutenant Cushing and the Ram " Albemarle " 1013 

Hills of Ross, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. Varian) John Bennett 774 

Holmes, Oliver Wendell. (Illustrated) Brander Matthews SoS 

Horse Fair, The. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper and others) James Baldwin. 

Helios's Four-in-hand 576 

The Dancing Horses of Sybaris 625 

Oliver Goldsmith and Fiddleback 7 I 9 

'• Babieca," the War-horse of the Cid 841 

The Ship of the Plains 922 

Bayard 998 

How the Godmother Failed. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Guy Wetmore Carryl 1035 

Howlery-Growi.ery Room, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Albertine Ran- ) /■_,,„, c- Richards ioaa 

dall Wheelan) S 

In the Woods. Picture, drawn by G. Varian 768 

Jack Ballister's Fortunes. (Illustrated by the Author) Hozoard Pyle 561 1 

649, 732, 857, 913 

Jingles 581, 597, 59S, 626, 759, 803, 807, 933, 938 

Jonquil Maid, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) Arthur Macy 546 

July, In. Verse. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) A. S. Webber 716 

King's Mountain. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Theodore Roosevelt 722 

Land OF Make-believe, The. Poem Guy Wetmore Carryl 812 

Lead Regiment, The. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Guy Wetmore Carryl 787 

Letter to John, A. Verse W. C. McClelland 758 

Lights, The; What They Tell. (Illustrated by W. Taber) . . .' John M. Ellicott 570 

Little Boy and the Little Watch, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the ? „ „ 

Author) \FredenckB.0pper 807 

Little Boy's Vain Request, A. Verse Edith M. Thomas 1042 

Long, Long Ago. Verse. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Tudor Jinks 557 

Lowell, James Russell. (Illustrated) Brander Matthews 991 

Manatee, Tapir, and Peccary. (Illustrated) William T. Homaday 1038 

Maternal Counsel. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 759 

Merry Mongoose, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) Helen Hay 846 

Model Child, A. Verse Helen Hopkins . . . 538 

Mushrooms, Lichens, and Moulds. (Illustrated) Margaret W. Leighlon 642 

Nancy's Nightmare. Verse. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) . .Laura E. Richards 912 

Nesting-time. Verse Frank H. Sweet 638 

New Lodger Disturbs the Neighborhood, The. Picture, drawn by G. Varian 506 

Nottingham Fair. Ballad. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Anna Robeson Brown S04 

" Now " and " Waitawhile." Verse Nixon Waterman 742 



Number Seven Oar, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Francis Churchill Williams . 725 

Old Tar and the Bicycle, The. (Pictures, drawn by E. W. Kemble) 845 

Oliver Goldsmith and Fiddleback. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) . . .James Baldwin 719 

Once upon a Time. Verse. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Harriet F. Blodgett 670 

Onteora Visitor, An. (Illustrated by James Carter Beard) Candace Wheeler 934 

Our Tiny Fleet. (Illustrated by A. J. Keller) Francis Churchill Williams . bio 

Philanthropist, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Rudolph F. Banner 925 

Pictures 581, 591, 596, 660, 715, 768, 843, 845, 869, 938, 959, 981, 990, .997, 1003, 1045 

Pigeons, The. Verse. (Illustrated by F. H. Bridgman) Emilie Poulsson 699 

Pirate's Little Joke, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Rudolph F. Bunner 1030 

Playing Dominoes. Verse Amos R. Wells 1027 

Poet to His Cat, The. Verse W. N. Clarke '. 1023 

Prong-horned Antelope and the Caribou, The. (Illustrated) William T. Hornaday 850 

Prudent Plan, A. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Emma A. Opper 844 

Quality, Not Place. Verse Mrs. H. M. Greenleaf. 1012 

Quadrupeds of North America. (Illustrated) William T. Hornaday. 

The Squirrels, Marmots, and Sewellel 601 

The Buffalo, Musk-ox, Mountain Sheep, and Mountain Goat 674 

The Prong-horned Antelope and the Caribou 850 

Our Moose, Elk, and Deer 939 

Manatee, Tapir, and Peccary 1038 

Rain-song, A. Poem Evaleen Stein 547 

" Remember the Alamo." (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Theodore Roosevelt 926 

Rhymes of the States. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn) Garrett A T ewkirk. 

Wisconsin 610 

Minnesota 611 

Iowa 694 

Missouri 695 

Louisiana 782 

Arkansas 783 

Texas 870 

New Mexico 871 

Arizona 962 

Indian Territory 963 

Nebraska 1050 

Kansas 1 105 

Robin that Sings at my Window, To the. Poem John Bennett 619 

Running; for Boys. (Illustrated by W. Taber) .S. Scoville, Jr. 777 

" Sail a Boat ! " (Picture, drawn by Ethel Reed) 938 

Sandman, The. Poem Harriet F. Blodgett 671 

Sea, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Guy Rose) Harriet F. Blodgett 957 

Secret of Success, The. Verse Nixon Waterman 950 

" Shadows From the Electric Light." (Picture drawn by F. H. Lungren) 997 

Ship of the Plains, The. (Illustrated by Max F. Klepper) James Baldwin 922 

Silent Partner, A. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Alary A. Hoadley 1028 

Silently Stealing Away. Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) J. C. Mean S07 

Slight Objection, A. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by the Author) . . .Margaret Johnson 671 

Song Full of Children, A. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by G. Varian) Robert Beverly Hale 1024 

" Speak ! " (Picture drawn by G. Varian) 981 

Squirrels, Marmots, and Sewellel, The. (Illustrated) William T. Hornaday 601 

Teddy and Carrots. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) James Otis 539 

661, 744, 831, 929, 1031 

Tender-hearted Arab, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Frederick B. Opper 597 

Three Freshmen : Ruth, Fran, and Nathalie. (Illustrated by A. J. ) 

Keller) \ Jessie M. Anderson 592 

To Desperation. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) Gertrude Hall 6S3 

Tommy's Alphabet. Verse Agnes Lee 928 

Tommy's Confession. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Frederick B. Opper 776 

Tommy's Home Run. Pictures, drawn by E. W. Kemble 715 



Tommy's Invention for Sliding to Bases. Picture, drawn by E. W. Kemble 843 

To-morrow is Composition Day. Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller Sprague 660 

To the Robin that Sings at my Window. Poem John Bennett 619 

Trout Brook, The. Poem Frank H. Sweet 768 

Tumbledown Town, The Ballad of. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed ( 

, „ ,, . , ( Charles L. Benjamin 872 

by G. Vanan) > J ' 

Twelve Dollars for One. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Victor Mapes 946 

Two Barks. Verse. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Frank le Seul 628 

Unfortunate Family, An. Verse ■ Felix Leigh 598 

V. and W. Verse. (Illustrated by Spencer B. Nichols) Charles L. Benjamin 5S1 

Voyage of a Chinese Wildcat, The. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Clara Erskine Clement 866 

" WASP," The CKuise OF THE. (Illustrated W. H. Drake) Theodore Roosevelt S47 

WHAT BEFELL Melaatij. (Illustrated by the Author) George Wharton Edwards . . . 531 

What Gustus Gerlach was Afraid of. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Elizabeth Cumings 828 

What the Lights Tell. (Illustrated by W. Taber) John M. Ellicott 570 

When King Kijolly Finds a Thief. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author). Rudolph F. Bicnner 865 

When King Kijolly Goes to War. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author). .R. F. Banner • . . 781 

When Vacation 's Nearing. Verse. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake). A. S. Webber 669 

Whittier, John Greenleaf. (Illustrated) Brander Matthews 769 

Who Cares ? Verse. (Illustrated by Francis Day) Harriet F. Blodgett 1043 

Women's Rights in the Nursery. Verse. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) . . .L. E. Chittenden 598 

Yamoud. — I. (Illustrated by G. Varian) Henry Willard French 1004 


" In Fairyland," by George Wharton Edwards, page 530 — " Ho, for the Tennis-courts ! " by F. H. Lungren, 
page 61S — " Blackbeard's Last Fight," by Howard Pyle, page 706 — "Some Day, Pussy, We '11 Go to America," 
by George Wharton Edwards, page 794 — " Like Cnesar Returning in Triumph to Rome," by C. M. Relyea, page 
8S2 — ■" Under The Weather," by J. G. Brown, page 970. 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated. ) 

Introduction — Fern-seed — Tall Ferns — What the Little Pronoun Told Me — Dreadful News — The Great 
Pussy-cat Puzzle (illustrated) — The Persian Cat Tells a Story — Kind-hearted Birds — Good Friends, 608; 
Introduction — A Mischievous Little Pilgrim — A Fine Sea-beach for Dolls — Natural Fireworks, 786 ; In- 
troduction — Corks — That Florida Leaf — The Wise Dogs of Hot Mexico — White-winged Ants, 1048. 

For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated.) 

What the Pet Pug Saw at the Circus 785 

The Kittens' Picnic 960 

Finger Play 1046 

Through the Scissors 698, S74 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 612, 700, 788, 876, 964, 1052 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 615, 703, 791, S79, 967, 1055 

Editorial Notes 700, 7K8, 1052 



Vol. XXII. 

MAY, 1895. 

No. 7. 


By George Wharton Edwards. 

Melaatij lived with her grandmother in a 
little thatched cottage on the edge of the vil- 
lage of 'sGravendeel, in Holland. The cottage 
was built of yellow and black bricks set in 
curious figures, and there was a low door so 
cut in the middle that, while the lower part was 
closed, the upper part might be opened. It was 
painted green, and was quite overgrown with 
hop-vines. Beside the door was a long wooden 
bench, and on this bench might be seen several 
huge cans of brass, shining like gold in the sun. 
When it is said that there were two square win- 
dows, and a huge chimney about which the 
swallows flew, there is little to add. 

Inside, the floor was made of bright, red tiles, 
and just opposite the door was the hearth, with 
the fireplace, huge and set with blue tiles; and 
over the fire of peat hung a large iron pot on a 
crane ; and from the pot, which had a shiny 
brass rim, came a most appetizing sputtering 
and bubbling sound. 

On one side of the room, and almost filling 
it, was a large mahogany double-decked bed, 
built into the wall, like a closet, with doors 
which were to be closed tightly to keep out 
the draughts at night — such a queer bed, with 
bright tulips painted in staring colors all over 
it. Arranged in a line on the wall were a num- 
ber of old Delft plates and pitchers and mugs, 

Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co 

and these, with the huge chest of linen, consti- 
tuted the household treasures. 

The houses of 'sGravendeel, after the fashion 
of most Dutch villages, were all built after one 
model, their gable ends facing the road which 
followed the dijke along the canal. And at 
either end of the village was a huge windmill, 
painted black and white, with long arms, on 
which were wide sails of tanned canvas, looking 
like brown velvet against the sky. 

Except on market days, few people came 
through 'sGravendeel; and rarely was any noise 
heard, save the screaming of the geese, or the 
rumble of the two mills. The road along the 
dijke led from the neighboring village of Deel- 
op-den-Dyke to Dort; but, as I say, except on 
market days, people very seldom wanted to go 
to Dort, and the people of Dort seemed never 
to think of Deel-op-den-Dyke. So, save the 
waving arms of the two windmills, and an occa- 
sional sight of one of the miller's men, all dusty 
white, setting the sails in the direction of the 
wind, there was little stirring in the village. 

With the first beams of the sun, the thrifty 
peasants betake them to the fields ; and they 
work their small plots of land to such purpose 
that the whole country, as seen from the high 
windows of the mills, resembles a huge patch- 
work of different tones of green. 

All rights reserved. 




midst of which came a prodigious cackling of 
geese, and the shrill voices of children. On 
they came, the geese screaming, running, wad- 
dling, and flying ahead of the children, who, 
arm in arm and stretched across the dijke, 
drove them before, with a great stamp- 
ing of their wooden shoes. 

As they passed the mill, Groot- 

moeder caught sight of a little 

figure in a crimson bodice 

in the middle of the line of 


Grootmoeder could hard- 
ly believe her eyes. 

" Melaatij ! " she screamed. 
" And is it thou ? And where 
is black ' Tessij ' ? " — grasp- 
ing the little one by the 
arm, and gazing down 
into her flushed, rosy 

" Ja, Grootmoeder. I 

left her in the polder 

the apple-tree by," said 

the abashed Melaatij, 

hanging down her head. 

■ And alone ? and thou knowest 


The women are as busy as the men 
in Holland, — indeed, busier : for while 
the men rest and smoke at the noon 
hour, the gleaming knitting-needles are 
brought out by the vrouwen (wives), and 
the blue stocking grows several inches. 

But about Melaatij :* It was quite late 
in the afternoon, and Grootmoeder stood 
knitting away by the door of the little 
yellow and black house just under the 
waving arms of the mill. As her lips 
moved, counting the stitches, her eyes 
wandered along the dijke, and at length 
rested upon a cloud of dust, from the 

* Pronounced " Mel-lat'ty," ij being the same 
asy; "Grootmoeder" is grandmother. 


y '' - 


i8 9 5-J 




that Mijnheer Van der Brugge has vowed that he 
will her in the pound put, if he finds her the dijke 
upon again! Go thou, and bring her home ! Hast 
thou thy mind lost, that thou leavest the best 
cow in 'sGravendeel to wander alone the pol- 
der in ? And whilst thou chasest the geese 
for others ! A great maid as thou art, with the 
head of hay upon thy shoulders ! Off with 
thee to bring home the black Tessij before thou 
dost thy supper get ! " And hardening her 
heart to the grieved look upon the child's face, 
she closed the door with a sounding slam. 

Off went little Melaatij down the dijke, her 
blue skirt flying in the breeze, and her wooden 
shoes clattering noisily. 

But black Tessij — the finest cow in all 
'sGravendeel — where was she ? 

When Melaatij left her under the apple-tree 

in the polder, to join the throng of 

children after the geese, forgetting 

in her haste to close the gate 

of the bridge over the sluice, 

black Tessij saw her chance, 

and started upon a tour of 

her own ; and where should 

she take it into her head to 

go, but up the dijke, to the 

big house of the mill-owner 

of 'sGravendeel, who owned 

the finest tulip-beds in all the 

country around. 

Black Tessij proved that 
she had an eye for color; for 
when she came to the gate 
leading from the dijke to 
Mijnheer Van der Brugge's 
garden, and found it fast, she 
jumped lightly over it, se- 
lected the costliest and most 
variegated bed in the garden, 
went and lay down in the 
midst of it, and, calmly fetch- 
ing up her cud, fell to chew- 
ing it as if a tulip-bed was the 
most natural resting-place in 
the world for a cow. 
So that when Melaatij reached the ap- 
ple-tree in the polder, black Tessij was no- 
where to be seen. In vain she called and 
called and clapped her hands ; she could 
hear nothing save the screaming of the geese in 
the distance, and the echo of her own voice com- 
ing back to her from the dijke, which wound its 
dusty way along the canal. Back she climbed 
again, thinking she might have missed her 
among the bushes as she came along ; but no 
sight of the cow was to be seen. 

After a moment's reflection she set off along 
a footpath that led across the polder to a clump 
of trees and dense underbrush surrounding the 
ruins of what had once been the great castle of 
'sGravendeel, which had been destroyed a hun- 
dred years before. 

" I shall find her here," thought Melaatij, as 
she ran along and, following the path, entered 
the cool shade of the trees. It was a lonely 
place, but the child knew no fear. She loved 




the wood, the great trees, the ferns, and the 
mosses that grew rankly among the ruins. And 
soon she entirely forgot black Tessij, in the de- 


light of the cool, soft moss and the tiny flowers 
that bespangled it. 

She followed a lizard that jumped across the 

path and scurried away among the ferns, and 
failing to find his hiding-place, she sat herself 
down on the moss, and leaned against one of 
the huge blocks of stone that were scattered 
about, and conned over to herself the 
wonderful stories she had heard 
her Grootmoeder tell of 
buried treasure, and of 
Heer Baron Graafe 
who had lived in the 
castle, and the beau- 
tiful lady whom he 
had so illy treated 
that she died ; and 
of the gold and sil- 
ver he had wrung 
from the peasants, 
and hoarded and 
buried in iron chests 
in the woods. How 
he suddenly disap- 
peared, and no one 
ever saw or heard of 
him afterward. How 
people had searched 
and dug for the treas- 
ure, but no one had 
been able to find it. 

It was the belief in 
the village among the 
peasants that the treas- 
ure could only be found 
at sunset by a maid 
who had suffered a 
great misfortune. 

This part of the story 

had ever been full of 

the most delightful 

mystery to Melaatij. She 

did not understand it in 

the least, but that only added 

to the charm. She had often 

wished that she might suffer ; for that, 

she assured herself, would be to look 

like the statue of the Virgin in the Groote 

Kerk (great church) at Dort, and wear a long 

white veil, and a wreath of flowers. Melaatij 

often gazed long at the sweet patient face. 

She had never suffered anything in her life, save 
perhaps a scolding from Grootmoeder when 




she did not make the butter come fast enough 
in the long-handled churn; and — but she sud- 
denly remembered that she was suffering now : 
for, had she not lost black Tessij, the finest cow- 
in all 'sGravendeel ? She mounted the ruined 
wall, and looked over into what had been the 
cellar of the castle. 

The sunshine gilded the stones in spots here 
and there, and the ferns grew rank. A bird 
hopped along through the bars of sunshine on 
the grass, and eyed her curiously, as who should 
say, " Well, little girl, what can I do for you ? " 
Then he twittered prettily, and who knows but 
what he was trying to tell her that black Tessij was 
in the best tulip-bed in the whole of 
Miingarden ? 

" How 
nice it 
would be," 
mused Me- 
laatij, with 

her eyes fixed 
•on the bird, " to find a huge chest of gold, and 
go home proudly to Grootmoeder, and, as the 
chest was brought in by the men (for of course 
she could n't carry it herself), to say grandly : 


" Here, Grootmoeder, is a chest of gold for 
thee, that thou mayst in thy old age peace and 
plenty have." 

Yes. She would have Pieter and Jan 
Swijzel from the mill to carry the chest, and 
maybe she would give them a whole silver gul- 
den each. (A gulden was as high as Melaatij 
had ever calculated.) Yes, a whole gulden 
each ; and with the rest of the treasure they 
(she and Grootmoeder) would go to Dort 
and live. Yes, in a fine house near the Groote 
Kerk ; and they would have pudding on the 
table every day, and she would not forget to 
buy the spectacles for Grootmoeder, whose 
eyes had been failing her of late, so much so 
that even the large print in the huge Bible 
would sometimes run together : upon 
which Grootmoeder would 
sigh, close the book, lay 
it carefully away in the 
closet, and resume her 

Yes. Pieter and 

Jan would carry in 

the chest before all 

the village, and she 

would say grandly 

and proudly to 

Grootmoeder, " See ! 

I have the treasure 

found for thee — the 

treasure of the Heer 

Baron Graafe ! " 

Perhaps it was buried 
just beneath where she sat ! 
Mounting the ruined 
wall, she seated herself 
upon a loose stone, and 
£} /".•'' bethought her of a lucky rhyme 
in vogue among the children, and 
which they always repeated when- 
ever they happened to lose anything : 

"Een-ali, twee -ah, drie-ah, Graaclit, 
Vijf-ah, zes-ah, zev'n-ah, Maacht ! " 

Nobody knew in the least what it meant, but 
that did not matter at all. It was lucky, and 
that was sufficient. 

While repeating the lucky rhyme she beat 
time to it with her little sabots upon the stone; 






and when she came to the final word " Maacht," 
she gave such a kick that off flew the sabot 
down among the weeds below. Slipping down 
from the spot where she had been sitting, she 
parted the thick bushes with her hands, care- 
fully avoiding the nettles, and 
pushed her way among the 
thick ferns to the spot where 
she could see the point of 
the white sabot gleaming. 
The branches, springing back, 
almost blinded her ; and, put- 
ting out her hands to keep 
them away, she suddenly 
felt the ground crumb- 
ling under her feet. She 
clung to the ferns and 
weeds to save herself, 
but the effort was use- 
less, and down she 
went, with the stones 
and loose earth rattling 
and falling all about her. 
One stone struck her on 
the head. She saw for a 
moment the green leaves and 
the patch of golden sky above 
her ; then all grew dark be- 
fore her eyes, and she knew 
no more. 

When little Melaatij opened 
her eyes again, the light was 
but faintly shining through the 
trees, for it was well-nigh night- 
fall. For a moment she did not 
realize where she was, or what 
had happened. But finally the 
pain in her head and her bruised 
knees became so bad that she re- 
membered her fall, and attempted to "'< 
rise, catching at a sort of projection which 
jutted out from the steep bank above her; but 
to her horror it moved loosely, as if it would 
fall. She had barely time to roll to one side 
ere the whole mass fell outward, and seemed to 
crumble away. The shape of it was square, 
and so remained ; and when she touched it she 
realized that it was iron, but so rusted that it 
was like flakes of rotten wood. 

There were some rags in the square shape, 

and she gingerly poked them about until what 
seemed to be hundreds of buttons began to run 
out of the discolored mass in a stream. She 
stooped and picked some of them up, and ex- 
amined them closely. They seemed to her to 
be like money, but such queer money 
— the like of it she had never 
seen before, and it was so 
brown and black, too ! She 
put some of them into her 

Suddenly from afar off 
came the " moo ! " of 
a cow, and at once 
she knew it for black 
Tessij's cry. And then 
it all came to her that 
she had lost black Tes- 
sij ; and, forgetting the 
stream of queer brown 
and black buttons, as 
well as the cruel bruise on 
her temple, she hurriedly 
climbed up the steep bank, 
and ran swiftly along the 
path through the wood 
in the direction from 
which had come the 
sound of black Tes- 
sij's cry. 

At the edge of the 
wood she paused 
an instant. She 
could see the top of 
the towers of the great 
house of Mijnheer Van der 
Brugge, and also the brass 
weathervane shining against 
the quiet evening sky. Below, 
the dusk hid the dijke; but 
there came sounds of shouting, 
and once the familiar bellow of black Tessij. 
On she ran now swifter than ever, and finally 
reached the small foot-bridge that led across 
the sluiceway to the dijke, then up the steep 
steps; and there she saw a crowd of villagers ex- 
citedly talking together, and among them Mijn- 
heer Van der Brugge and the poundmaster, 
driving black Tessij before them. She screamed 
aloud at this. 







oh, don't take 
Tessij ! Oh, als 7 
U belief/ (if you 
please) ! " 
At this Mijnheer Van 
der Brugge turned, and 
seeing a little girl with a 
torn skirt and only one sabot, and a huge bruise 
on her white forehead, on her knees at his feet, 
exclaimed : 

" What ! and is it thou, Melaatij ? And dost 
thou know what thy black duivel of a cow has 
done ? Well, then, I '11 tell thee," he said, as 
Melaatij sobbingly shook her head. " She has 
spoiled three hundred guldens' worth of rare 
tulips ; and for this — " 

How much more Mijnheer would have said 
no one knows ; for at that moment, such was 
the little thing's terror at hearing of this damage 
to the tulip-bed, she excitedly struck her knees 
with both hands, so that her apron pockets, 
which she had filled with the queer brown and 

black buttons that she found in the wood, 

here gave way, and the contents rolled 

this way and that about her. Mijnheer 

stooped and picked some of them 

up. Then he glanced at 

her in astonishment. 

" How now," he said 

harshly ; " and where 

and how didst thou 

come by these ? " 

" Ah, Mijnheer," 
said the little thing, in 
terror, " I found them 
in the wood, als V 
U belief t ; and there 
are hundreds and hun- 
dreds more. I fell on 
them, Mijnheer." And then 
she began to cry. 
Mijnheer stooped and gath- 
ered them all up carefully, and 
after ordering the poundmaster to 
take the cow poundward, lie seized 
the arm of Melaatij, and said : 
" Come, come ; get up and show me quickly 
where thou didst find these. Dost thou know 
what they are ? " 

" Nay, Mijnheer, als V U belief ty 
And then Mijnheer rapidly walked on in the 
direction from which the little one had come — 
so rapidly that she was well-nigh out of breath 
when they arrived at the wood's edge. There 
Melaatij led the way, and soon they came to 
the spot where she had fallen ; and there was 
the same little bird hopping along, his head on 
one side, knowingly gazing at them; but Mijn- 
heer did not care for the bird, or indeed seem 
to see it at all ; for he said : " Now, where is 
the place where thou didst find these ? " 

"There — there, below, at the bottom of the 
bank, where the stones are loose," said Melaatij, 
pointing to the place. 

And down leaped Mijnheer. Soon he gave 
a cry : " Go to my house and bring Jan at 
once, and Claes also, and bid them fetch a 

Well, to make a long story short, Melaatij 
soon returned with the two men, and they soon 
loaded the basket with the queer brown and 
black buttons which Melaatij had found. But 




you must know that they were not buttons at 
all, but pure gold and silver coins — so many 
of them that I am afraid to name the amount. 
For this was the long-hidden treasure of the 
Heer Baron Graafe, and the place where Me- 
laatij so luckily fell had been the very spot 
where no one had thought of searching for it 
in all the many long years that it had lain 
there. Of course, having found the treasure, 
Melaatij was entitled to a certain part of it ; 
and after the money was delivered to the Heer 
Treasurer at Amsterdam, and the rightful heirs 
appeared, and the money was divided, the Trea- 
surer sent word to Melaatij that twelve thou- 
sand gulden (nearly $5000) was in the bank in 
her name. 

Think what a proud moment it was in Me- 
laatij's life when the messenger arrived in the 
town, and asked to be directed to the domicile of 

Jufvrouw Melaatij Taat, and the whole village 
escorted him to the neat cottage, where the offi- 
cial notice was delivered to the little girl, and 
receipted for by Mijnheer Van der Brugge, who 
was appointed her guardian! And there has 
been no more talk of the terrible deed of black 
Tessij, nor indeed of punishment for Melaatij; 
for she is now a little heiress, and is at school 
in Amsterdam — and who knows what else 
there is in store for her? — while Grootmoeder 
is living comfortably at the great house of 
Mijnheer Van der Brugge. And I may say that 
grootmoeder now has little trouble in reading 
the Bible, for she has a new one of larger and 
clearer print, and a beautiful new pair of gold- 
bowed spectacles, through which better to read 
the letters. And from where I am writing I can 
see the two mills waving their velvety-brown 
arms against the sky. 


By Helen Hopkins. 

Her temper 's always sunny, her hair is ever neat ; 
She does n't care for candy — she says it is too sweet! 
She loves to study lessons — her sums are always right; 
And she gladly goes to bed at eight every single night ! 

Her apron 's never tumbled, her hands are always clean ; 
With buttons missing from her shoe she never has been seen. 




She remembers to say " Thank you," and " Yes, ma'am, if you please " ; 
And she never cries, not frets, nor whines ; she 's ne'er been known to tease. 

Each night upon the closet shelf she puts away her toys ; 
She never slams the parlor door, nor makes the slightest noise; 
But she loves to run on errands and to play with little brother, 
And she 's never in her life been known to disobey her mother. 

" Who is this charming little maid ? 
I long to grasp her hand ! " 
She 's the daughter of Mr. Nobody, 
And she lives in Nowhereland ! 



By James Otis. 

Chapter I. 


" Say, boys, come 'round over here by the 
fountain, an' I '11 show you something ! " Skip 
Jellison shouted to a party of his friends who 
were seated on a curbstone, not far from the 
Newsboys' Lodging House, gravely discussing 
a business proposition which had been made 
by Sid Barker. 

" What 's the matter ? " Reddy Jackson 
asked, replacing his fragment of a hat. 

" Come over here ; an' you must be quick 
about it, or the show will be ended." 

Skip was so excited that his acquaintances 
and friends concluded it must be something of 
considerable importance to cause him to move 
in such a lively manner, and they followed him 
a short distance down the street, until it was 
possible to have a full view of the fountain. 

There the cause of Master Jellison's agita- 
tion could be seen. 

Seated on the edge of the iron basin, with a 
newspaper parcel unrolled in front of him, was 
a boy, apparently about twelve years of age, 
who, to the newsboy spectators, looked pain- 
fully neat and clean. Skip and his friends 
saw that the boy was a stranger in die city. 

The new-comer had taken from their news- 

paper wrappings a small cake of yellow soap, 
and a piece of cotton cloth. 

Laying these on the iron edge of the fountain 
basin, he calmly proceeded to wash his face and 
hands, using a plentiful amount of soap ; and 
then, to the intense astonishment of the specta- 
tors, applied the impromptu towel vigorously. 

" Well, that fellow 'stoo good for downtown! " 
Skip said in what he intended for a sarcastic 
tone. " He b'longs up at the Fif ' Avenoo." 

" Oh, he 's jest got in from the country, an' 
is goin' to buy Brooklyn Bridge," Sid suggested. 

" Look at him ! Jest look at him ! " Skip 
cried, in mingled excitement and anger that 
the boy should be so criminally neat. 

The stranger had taken from his valise of 
paper a comb, which he calmly proceeded to 
use, the water in the basin serving as a mirror; 
and then, to the surprise and disdain of the 
spectators, he gave his clothes a vigorous 
brushing with a whisk broom. 

" Well, see here ! " and Skip spoke in the 
tone of one who is uncertain whether it is best 
to laugh or be angry, " that feller 's makin' me 
tired. S'pos'n' we go over an' give him a 
shakin' up, jest for fun. Come on ! " and Skip 
led the way across the street at full speed. 

The stranger looked up calmly when they 
approached, but betrayed neither astonishment 




nor alarm ; and Skip involuntarily halted a few 
paces away, as he asked gruffly: "Say, young 
fellow, what 're you tryin' to do ? " 

" Can't you see ? " 

" I thought I did; but these chaps here made 
sure there must be some mistake about it." 

The boy gazed critically at those who were 
surrounding him, and then replied : 

" Well, 'cordin' to the looks of the whole 
crowd, I should think you might be s'prised to 
see a fellow wash his face an' comb his hair." 

" Now, don't get too fresh," Sid said threat- 
eningly, as he stepped forward to Skip's side. 
" We did n't come here to git the 'pinion of 
any country jay." 

" Then why did you want 'er know ? " 

" 'Cause. Say, you 'd better mind your eye, 
young fellow, if you count on stayin' 'round 
this city very long. There was a chap jest like 
you come down here last week tryin' to put on 
airs: an' his folks are huntin' for him now." 

" Well, you need n't be worried anybody '11 
be lookin' for me, 'cause there 's nobody wants 
to know where I am. So go ahead, if I 've 
been doin' anything you perfessors don't like." 

Sid apparently decided that it was hardly ad- 
visable for him to make too many threatening 
gestures, because the stranger was not at all 
disturbed by them, and even seemed disposed 
to court the possibly dreadful encounter. 

He finished brushing his clothes, and then 
packed his " valise," by rolling the different 
articles carefully in the newspaper. Then, in- 
stead of going away, as Skip and his friends 
seemed to think he should have done as soon 
as they arrived, he stood with his hands on his 
hips, as if waiting for them to take their de- 
parture. For a minute no one spoke, and the 
silence was really painful. 

The newsboys were mentally taking the 
measure of this stranger who appeared ready 
to defy them ; and the latter finally asked im- 
patiently : " Well, what 're you fellers countin' 
on doin' ? I reckon I 'm no great sight for 
you to stand lookin' at." 

" Do you live here ? " Skip asked. 

•' I 'm goin' to now. Had it tough enough 
gettin' here, an' don't feel like leavin' till I 've 
found out what there is in this city." 

" Where did you come from ? " 

" Up Saranac way." 

" Rode down in a parlor-car, I s'pose." 

" Then you s'pose wrong, 'cause I walked." 

" You don't look it." And once more Skip 
scrutinized the stranger carefully. 

" I don't reckon I do. I count on keepin' 
myself kind er decent. It does n't cost anything 
for a feller to wash his face, comb his hair, or 
have his clothes clean, an' there 's many a time 
when it '11 pull him through in great shape." 

" Goin' to live on the interest of your money, 
I s'pose ? " 

" Well, you s'pose right this time," was the 
quiet reply. " That 's my calkerlation ; but 
it '11 be on what I earn, not what I 've got." 

" Dead broke ? " 

" Not quite," and the boy took from his 
pocket a number of pennies, holding them in 
one hand, while he guarded himself against a 
possible attack. " There were twenty of 'em 
when I come 'cross the ferry, an' I b'lieve none 
of 'em have got away since." 

" What are you goin' to do here ? " Sid 
asked, beginning to fancy that possibly this 
stranger was a boy whom it would be worth 
his while to cultivate ; and, in order to show his 
friendliness, he seated himself in a studied attitude 
of careless ease on the edge of the basin, while 
the others immediately followed his example. 

" Whatever will bring in money enough for 
my keep, an' a little over." 

" Thinkin' of sellin' papers ? " Reddy asked. 

" I reckon that '11 be 'bout the first job, 
'cause I 've got to make money enough for my 
supper, or dig too big a hole in my capital." 

" What 's your name ? " 

"Teddy Thurston." 

" Do you s'pose the fellers down here, what 
run the newspaper business, are goin' to have 
you comin' in takhv the bread an' butter out er 
their mouths ? " Sid asked angrily. 

" No, I don't reckon they will ; but you see 
I 'm not after that exac'ly. You fellers '11 never 
find me tryin' to get your bread an' butter; 
but I '11 tell you what you can count on for a 
fact," and now the stranger spoke in a very 
decided tone. " I 'm reckonin' on stickin' to 
the newspaper business, if there 's any money 
in it, jest as long as I want to. I did n't travel 
all the way down here to get scared the first 

i8j 5 .: 



day. You see, I figger it 'bout like this: Sam 
Thompson, he came to the city last summer, 
an' some fellows — I don't know whether it was 
you or not — made it hot for him. It was n't 
more 'n a week before he was glad to walk 
back, although he came down in the cars. 
Now I thought I 'd begin right where Sam left 
off: I 'd walk the first way, an' then, perhaps, 

would show a green hand how to get his pa- 
pers, an' where the best places were, eh ? " 

" That 's jest 'cordin' to how you start in, 
young fellow," and Sid arose to his feet in or- 
der to make his words more expressive. " If 
you want to go to work, an' mind your eye, I 
don't know but it can be done; but you won't 
get along this way. You 're puttin' on ' too 

^M§ '^P' 

'you'd better mind your eye, if you count on stayin' round this city very long!' said skip.' 

stand a better chance of ridin' the other, if I 
had to go ; but it 's got to be boys what are 
bigger than I am to scare me out er the plan. 
/ 're come to stay." 

" Oh, you have ? " and there was no mistak- 
ing the fact that Skip was sarcastic. " We may 
have something to say 'bout that." 

" Then you want 'er talk quick, 'cause after 
I 'm settled down, it '11 be a pretty hard job to 
make any trade with me." 

" Where you goin' to begin business ? " 

" I don't know yet. I '11 look 'round a 
while, an' catch on before night, somewhere. 
I reckon there are fellows in this town that 

many frills — that 's what 's the matter with 
you, an' they '11 have to be taken off." 

"Well, perhaps they will"; and Teddy turned 
as if to leave his new acquaintances. " You 
see, I 'm pretty green, an' may be countin' on 
doin' too much. I '11 try it a spell, anyhow." 

" We allers 'low, when it 's 'greed a new hand 
can go to work, that he stands treat the first 

"Oh, I see! Well, I don't have to do that. 
'cause it ain't been 'greed yet. When I want 
you fellows to tell me what I can do, perhaps I 
may come down 'cordin' to your idees ; but 
jest now I 've got too much business on hand"; 




and the stranger walked away, as if these 
young gentlemen, who claimed to control the 
newspaper business of New York City, were of 
no especial importance in his eyes. 

" Look here, fellows," Skip said wildly, for 
he always contrived to work himself into a 
state of intense excitement over the most tri- 
fling matters, " the way he 's going on now, 
he '11 be the boss of Newspaper Row before 
mornin', 'less we take a hand in it." 

" What are you goin' to do ? " Sid asked 
in much too quiet a tone to suit his excited 

" Thump his head the very first time he 
tries to sell a paper, to start with, an' run him 
out er town before ter-morrer night." 

" I don't see how you can tackle him now 
when he ain't doin' anything." 

" Of course not; but he brags he 's goin' to ; 
an' the first time he tucks a bundle of papers 
under his arm, I '11 give him one to re- 
member ! " 

" Look out you don't git it the same 's you 
did last week, over in Brooklyn! " Teenie Mas- 
sey cried in his shrillest tones, which hardly 
ever failed to excite Master Skip's anger. 

" Don't you mind how I got it over in Brook- 
lyn ! I '11 tend to my business ; you tend to 
yours. If we waited for you to do anything, 
we 'd all be bald-headed," was Skip's answer to 
this taunt ; but Teenie was not at all abashed. 
It was his favorite amusement to arouse Skip's 
anger, and rely upon his diminutive stature to 
escape a whipping; for Master Jellison prided 
himself upon his ability to flog any fellow of 
his size in New York. " You fellows meet me 
in front of The Times office at noon, an' I '11 
show him up in great shape, 'less he comes 
to hisself before then, which I reckon he will, 
'cause he '11 never have the nerve to stand up 
ag'in' the whole crowd of us," said Skip. 

Meanwhile the stranger was apparently giv- 
ing no heed to the young tyrant who had 
decided it would be impossible for him to re- 
main in the city ; but continued on his way 
down-town, ignorant of, and perhaps careless 
regarding, the fact that he was to be debarred 
from earning a livelihood by selling newspapers, 
if Skip Jellison's power was as great as he 
would have others believe. 

Chapter II. 


The appearance of the clean-looking boy, 
even though his clothes were rather shabby, 
attracted no particular attention among the 
small army of newsboys and boot-blacks to be 
found in the vicinity of City Hall Park; and 
Teddy Thurston was enabled to survey the 
scene around him without interruption. 

During a few moments he interested himself 
in what, to the country lad, must have been a 
bewildering scene ; and then, mentally " pulling 
himself together," he began to watch the young 
gentlemen who were selling papers. 

Near by him were several boot-blacks who 
appeared to be doing a flourishing business; 
and he said to himself, jingling the coins in 
his pocket, as if trying to revive his courage : 

" If I had money enough to buy brushes an' 
a box, I b'lieve I 'd black boots for a while. 
It seems as if there was a good deal of profit 
in it. One of those fellows has earned fifteen 
cents since I stood here, an' I 'm sure the 
paper-sellers are n't doin' so well." 

Just at that moment a small boy, with par- 
ticularly red hair and a stubby nose on which 
was a large smudge of blacking, finished his 
work of polishing a gentleman's boots, and 
pocketed with an air of satisfaction the three 
extra pennies which had been given him. 

Then, standing very near Teddy, he whistled 
in the most contented manner possible. 

The boy from Saranac looked at him a mo- 
ment, as if trying to decide whether the city 
fellow would be willing to give the desired in- 
formation, and then asked : 

" Say, what do the brushes cost ? " 

" I paid Ikey Cain forty cents for these two," 
the stranger replied without hesitation, as he dis- 
played the articles last mentioned. " They 're 
good ones. I could n't have got 'em less 'n 
a dollar down on Fulton Street." 

"That settles me," Teddy said, as if speak- 
ing to himself; and then, without particular 
animation, he inquired, " What 's the cost of 
the boxes ? " 

" Oh, the fellers don't buy these ; they make 
'em. All you 've got to do is ask some man 
in a store for one, an', if he gives it to you, find 



a chunk of wood an' whittle out this top part. 
It 's the blackin' what takes the profits off. 
I paid twenty cents for that bottle last Mon- 
day, an' it 's more 'n half gone already." 

Teddy ceased jingling his coins, and was 
about to turn away, when his new acquain- 
tance asked: "Was you thinkin' of shinin' ? " 

" Eh ? " 

" I mean was you goin' inter the business ? " 

" No, I can't; have n't got money enough. I 
reckon I '11 have to sell papers for a while." 

" You '11 be jest as rich," the small boy said 
as he added another smudge of blacking to 
his nose by rubbing it in a thoughtful manner. 
" You see, when it rains, the fellers can sell pa- 
pers all the same ; but we have to lay off 'cause 
nobody wants their boots shined in wet weather. 
Where do you live ? " 

" Well, about anywhere, now. You see, I 
jest come down from Saranac, to find out how 
I could earn my livin'." 

" What was you doin' up there ? " 

" I worked for Farmer Taylor a spell, but he 
would n't give me more 'n my clothes; an' 
when a fellow has to work a year on the farm 
for sich a rig-out as I 've got here, it don't seem 
as if he 'd get rich very soon." 

" I ain't so sure," the boy with the blackened 
nose said, as he surveyed the stranger. " You 
seem to be rigged out pretty swell, an' I guess 
they fed you well enough — gave you all you 
wanted, eh ? " 

" Oh, yes, I got enough to eat, an' a fair 
place to sleep in ; but it seems as though a 
fellow like me ought 'er have more 'n that, if he 
works hard all day for it." 

" Well, I s'pose he had ; but you see there 's 
a good many times when business is dull 'round 
here, an' if you have n't got the cash to pay right 
up to dots for a room, you '11 have a chance to 
sleep where you can. I 've been thinkin' of 
goin' on to a farm, myself; but I don't seem to 
get ahead fast enough to make a break." 

Teddy was rather pleased with this new ac- 
quaintance. The red-haired boy was the first 
in the city who had treated him with the 
slightest degree of friendliness, and it would 
have been gross carelessness to neglect him. 

" What 's your name ? " he asked, as he 
moved slowly toward one of the benches, with 

an air which invited the boot-black to sit 

"Well, it 's Joseph Williams; but nobody 
'round here calls me that. The fellers sing out 
' Carrots ' when they want me, 'cause you see 
my hair is red." 

" Yes, I could tell that in the dark," Teddy 
said with a smile, as he looked at Master Wil- 
liams's flame-colored head. 

" I don't care what they call me. If it does 
'em any good to sing out ' Carrots ' whenever 
I go by, why, let 'em do it. But that 's what 
makes me think 'bout goin' to farmin'." 

"What is?" 

" 'Cause they yell so much 'bout carrots. I 
don't know as I 'd like sich things, for I never 
eat any; but it seems as if a feller that 's so 
red-headed as I am b'longs in the country." 

" I don't know how you make that out." 

" Neither do I; but that 's the way it looks 
to me. Must be nice to be where there 's grass, 
so 's you can get up in the mornin' an' run 
'round in the fields." 

" Yes ; but that 's what you would n't be 
doin'. If you was livin' on a farm you 'd have 
to hustle, an' there 's enough work in the morn- 
in' without runnin' 'round the fields, I tell you." 

" What did you use ter do ? " 

"Well, first place, I fed the cows. We did n't 
keep any sheep ; but I looked after the hosses 
an' pigs, an' then there was a pesky little calf 
that gave me lots o' trouble. But look here," 
Teddy added quickly, " there 's plenty of time 
for me to tell you 'bout a farm. Jest now I 
want 'er do somethin' to earn my livin'. Can 
you show me where to get some papers ? " 

" Are you goin' inter the business sure ? " 

" Only for a little while. I don't count on 
sellin' papers all my life. You see, I 'low to 
make money enough so 's I can go inter some- 
thin' reg'lar for myself." 

" Oh, you do, eh ? " and Master Carrots in- 
dulged in a bit of sarcasm. " Well, I reckon 
it '11 be a pretty long while before you earn 
that much. You '11 be mighty lucky to have 
all you want 'er eat, an' a place to sleep. What 
have you got in your pocket ? " 

" Nothin' pertic'lar. That 's my baggage," 
and in order to prove his friendliness toward 
the red-haired stranger, Teddy displayed the 




contents of the newspaper parcel, greatly to the 

surprise of his new acquaintance. 
" What 's that little brush for ? " 
" Why, to clean my teeth, of course." 
Carrots looked at his new friend in surprise 

which amounted almost to bewilderment. 
" Well," Teddy asked, " what 's the matter ? " 
" Well, seems as if you was puttin' on a good 

deal of style for a feller that has n't got money 

enough to buy the outfit for the boot-black 


" I don't know as there 's anything so queer 

'bout that ; but you fellows seem to think 


there 's no call to keep yourselves lookin' 

" Well, you see, we don't claim to be swells." 

" Yes, so I see," Teddy replied ; then he 

added : " Say, these fellows seem to be sellin' 

a good many papers. S'pos'n' you show me 

where to buy some?" 

" All right ; come along " ; and, slinging his 
box over his shoulder, Carrots started across 
Printing House Square, threading his way in 
and out among the vehicles in a manner which 
seemed to Teddy almost criminally reckless. 

More than once, before the short journey was 
ended, did the boy from Saranac fancy he 
would be trampled under the feet of the horses; 
but by dint of his own exertions, aided now and 
then by a vigorous pull from his guide, he was 
soon standing in an ill-ventilated room, where 
half a dozen fellows were clamoring for round, 
fiat pieces of brass. 

"Here — I don't want those," Teddy said, 
as Carrots led the way to the desk where the 
disks were being sold. 

" But you 've got to have the checks if you 
count on gettin' papers. Give me your money. 
How many do you want ? " 

" I '11 take twenty cents' worth, anyhow, an' 
see what I can do with them as a starter"; and 
Teddy handed the pennies confidently to his 
new acquaintance. 

Carrots laid the coins in front of the busy 
man at the desk, received the bits of brass, and 
with them went to the 
counter on which large 
numbers of newspapers 
were lying, where he 
received Teddy's first 
stock in trade. 

" Find out what the 
news is, an' yell the 
best you know how," 
Carrots said, pushing 
the young gentleman 
from Saranac toward 
the street door; and 
five minutes later the 
new merchant was fol- 
lowing his friend's ad- 
vice to the letter, by 
crying his wares in 
such a manner as excited the mirth of the other 

" It seems to me I ain't doin' this jest right," 
Teddy said to himself, and then he waited a 
moment, listening to the more experienced 

It was not long before he succeeded in 
imitating their cries, and had already sold four 
papers when Skip Jellison, who was accom- 
panied by his friends Sid Barker and Teenie 
Massey, appeared in view. 

" There he is ! " Teenie cried in his shrillest 

i8 95 ] 


tones. " Now let 's see you go for him! He 's 
actin' as if he owned the whole town ! " 

Skip prepared for battle by rolling up his 
coat-sleeves, and settling his dilapidated cap 
more firmly on his head. Then, running swiftly 
forward, he confronted Teddy as he was on 
the point of selling a paper to a gentleman 
through a horse-car window. 

Skip did not wait to be attacked, for he be- 
lieved in striking the first blow as a means of 
confusing the enemy; and before Teddy recog- 
nized the boy who had threatened him, he re- 
ceived a severe blow in the face which caused 
him to reel backward. 

The paper fell from his hand, the horse-car 
continued its way, and this important trans- 
action in news was nipped in the bud, to the 
serious loss of the young merchant. 

Teddy was bewildered for an instant, as Skip 
had expected, and he did not recover his self- 
possession until Master Jellison had struck him 
once more, this time without serious effect, 
since the blow, being a hasty one, glanced 
from the boy's shoulder. 

It sufficed, however, to throw Teddy's stock 
of papers into the mud of the street, thereby 
ruining several so that they would not sell to 
fastidious customers; and this, more than the 
injury received, aroused Teddy's ire. 

The boy from Saranac may have been igno- 
rant concerning the customs of the city, but he 
was thoroughly well aware that it was neces- 
sary to defend himself; and an instant later 
Skip found he had quite as much on hand as 
he could attend to properly. 

Teddy, giving no heed to his wares, struck 
out with more strength than science, and_ forced 
his adversary to beat a swift retreat. 

" Now you 've got it ! " Teenie shrieked, as 
if delighted that Skip had met an opponent 
who was a match for him. 

But Skip paid no heed to Teenie, and, raising 
his fists as an invitation to Teddy to " come 
on," awaited the conclusion of the battle, con- 
fident as to who would be the victor. 

(To be 


Teddy had no idea of holding back ; for this 
attack was but the beginning of a series which 
were intended to drive him out of business, 
and it was necessary it should be repulsed if 
he wished to earn his livelihood by the sale 
of newspapers. 

Therefore he advanced boldly, and aimed 
what was intended for a stinging blow at his 
antagonist's face ; but it was met by Skip's arm, 
and before Teddy could raise his hand again, 
Teenie squeaked loudly and shrilly enough to 
have been heard at the post-office : 

" Cops ! Hi, fellers, here 's de cops ! " 

Teddy was wholly at a loss to know what 
was meant by this cry, although he understood 
it was one of warning; and as he looked around 
to ascertain the cause, Skip turned and imme- 
diately started at full speed across the park, 
intent only on escaping from the blue-coated 
guardians of the peace. 

With a cry of triumph, Teddy followed in pur- 
suit ; but before he had traversed twenty yards 
a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and 
he found himself in the clutches of one of the 
park guards. 

" I 've made up my mind that this sort of 
thing 's been going on long enough," the officer 
said, shaking the boy from Saranac as he led 
him toward the approaching policeman. " You 
little ragamuffins seem to think this park 's kept 
for you to fight in, but now I 'm going to 
show you what 's what." 

"Just let me get hold of the fellow who 
knocked my papers in the mud, and I '11 show 
you what 's what ! " Teddy cried, not under- 
standing that he had been arrested. "They 
are n't goin' to drive me away from this town, 
if I know myself." 

"Well, now there won't be anybody able to 
do that till after you settle with the court," the 
guard said, as he handed his prisoner over to 
the policeman ; and Teddy's face grew pale as 
he realized that his attempted entrance into the 
business community of New York city was to 
be checked in an ignominious manner. 


Vol. XXII.— 69. 

Th© JWwdli 


{A Springtime Fancy.) 

By Arthur Macv. 


A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree, 

Singing alone, in a low love-tone ; 
And the Wind swept by with a wistful moan; 
For he longed to stay 
With the Maid all day; 
But he knew, 
As he blew, 
It was true 
That the dew 
Would never, never dry 
If the Wind should die; 
So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew. 
And while to the Land of the Rose went he, 

Singing alone, .in a low love-tone, 
The Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree. 

Wind swept back to the Jonquil Tree 
At the close of day, 
In the twilight gray; 
But the sweet Little Maid had stolen away, 
And whither she 's flown 
Will never be known 
Till the Rose, 
As it blows, 
Shall disclose 
All it knows 
Of the Maid so fair 
With the sunset hair, 
d the sad Wind comes, and sighs, 
and goes, 
And dreams of the day when he 
blew so free: 

When, singing alone, 
in a low love-tone, 
Little Maid sat in a Jonquil | 




By Evaleen Stein. 

Tinkle, tinkle, 

Lightly fall 
On the peach-buds, pink and small ; 
Tip the tiny grass, and twinkle 
On the willows green and tall. 

Tinkle, tinkle — 
Faster now, 
Little rain-drops, smite and sprinkle 
Cherry-bloom and apple-bough ! 
Pelt the elms, and show them how 
You can dash ! 
And splash ! splash ! splash ! 
While the thunder rolls and mutters, and the 
lightnings flash and flash ! 

Then eddy into curls 
Of a million misty swirls, 
And thread the air with silver, and embroider 
it with pearls ! 

And patter, patter, patter 
"On the mossy flags, and clatter 
On the streaming window-pane. 

Rain, rain, 

On the leaves, 
And the eaves, 
And the turning weathervane ! 

Rush in torrents from the tip 
Of the gable-peak, and drip 
In the garden-bed, and fill 

All the cuckoo-cups, and pour 
More and more 
In the tulip-bowls, and still 

In a crystal tide, until 
Every yellow daffodil 
Is flooded to its golden rim, and brimming o'er 
and o'er ! 

Then as gently as the low 

Muffled whir of robin wings, 

Or a sweep of silver strings, 
Even so 

Take your airy April flight 

Through the merry April light, 
And melt into a mist of rainy music as you go. 


By Sara M. Chatfield. 

Bird of the azure wing, 
Bird of the silver note, 
Come ! for it is the spring, 
And high the white clouds float. 
Come, bluebird, come ! 

Bird of the crimson breast, 
Robin — we miss you well ; 
Robin, we love you best. 
Come ! for the cowslips swell. 
Come, robin, come ! 

Bird of the circling flight 
'Gainst twilight's pearly skies, 
Soft call the winds of night, 
Lonely the water cries — 
Come, swallow, come ! 


By Albert Stearns. 

[Begun i?i the December number. ] 

Chapter IX. 

" Go away ! " shrieked Bob. Instantly the 
genie disappeared. 

" What 's the matter with you, Bob ? " de- 
manded Chris, determined not to reveal the 
secret of the lamp if he could avoid it. 

" Did n't you see it ? " quavered his cousin, 
his teeth chattering. 

" Did n't I see what ? " 

" Why, that thing over by the window. I 
could n't have imagined it." 

" I don't see anything there," said Chris. 

" It is n't there now," replied the trembling 
Bob; ''but — but — Chris, I believe I 've had 
a nightmare." 

" You 'd better lie down and go to sleep," 
advised Chris. 

"J don't feel as if I could sleep any more 
to-night. It must have been that cake I ate 
at the sewing-circle; but still, that was more 
than twenty-four hours ago." 

" Well, you shut your eyes, and I guess 
you '11 get to sleep without any trouble," said 

Just then there came a sharp rap upon the 

" Who is it ? " asked Bob. 

"It 's me," was the reply, in the shrill voice 
of Mrs. Storms. " I wish yeou tew boys would 
remember that my room is right under yeourn, 
an' stop cuttin' up. Ef yeou don't, I '11 hev 
tew wake up yeour folks, fer I ain't a-goin' tew 
be kep' awake all night." 

" We won't make any more noise, Mrs. 
Storms," said Bob, as he turned over and closed 
his eyes, whispering to his cousin : " I hope I 
sha'n't have that same dream again." 

Chris mentally echoed the wish as he slyly 
removed the lamp from under the pillow and 
placed it on the table by the bedside. 

In a kw minutes both boys were asleep 
again; when they awoke it was broad day- 
light. Bob had "slept off" the impression 
made upon him by the genie, and laughed and 
joked about his supposed nightmare while he 
dressed. He told the story at the breakfast- 
table, and Mrs. Storms remarked darkly that 
in all her life she had never " heern tell of 
ennybody with a clear conscience hevin' a 

As soon after breakfast as he could escape, 
Chris went out to the barn with the lamp un- 
der his coat, and summoned the genie. 

The erratic spirit appeared in a shape even 
more terrible than that he had chosen to as- 
sume on the occasion of his last appearance. 
This time he looked like a composite lion and 
unicorn, with a slight suggestion of a war-horse. 

Chris had prepared himself for a shock, but 
he could not help starting nervously as the 
genie materialized out of thin air. However, 
he said sharply : 

" I '11 trouble you to change yourself into 
Pulsifer Jukes again, in as quick time as 

The command was instantly obeyed : the next 
moment the genie stood before his master in the 
semblance of that benevolent-looking old man. 

" That 's always the way," he grumbled. 
" You never stick to one idea more than an 
hour at a time. I thought you gave me the 
privilege of appearing in any shape I pleased." 

"So I did," replied Chris, sternly; "but 
you 've abused it, and henceforth I want you 
to appear as Pulsifer Jukes unless I give you 
orders to the contrary. Why, you nearly ex- 
posed the entire business by the way you acted 
last night." 

" I only did my duty," said the genie, sulkily. 
Then he added, " And I sincerely wish that 
young fellow had retained possession of the 
lamp. I liked his looks." 




" And you don't like mine. Is that what 
you mean ? " asked Chris. 

" I did n't say so," returned the genie ; " but 
really I don't see, for the life of me, why you 
make such a tremendous secret of the fact that 
you have gained possession of the lamp." 

" We won't discuss the point now," said 
Chris. " I want to get you to do something 
for me. I 've been appointed pitcher of the 
Lincolnville Baseball Club, and there 's to be 
a game this afternoon. Now, I want to win 
that game for the Lincolnvilles." 

" Oh, you do ? " said the genie, with a pecu- 
liar smile. 

" Yes, I do. Now, between ourselves, I 'm 
no pitcher at all, and I want you to help me 

" You mean that you expect me to give you 
the ability to win the game ? " questioned the 

" That 's it." 

" Well, I can't do it." 

" Wh-what ? " stammered Chris, in dismay. 

" I say I can't do it. I 'm about as able an 
all-round genie as you '11 find in a day's walk ; 
but I have my limitations, and I can't make 
you over. If you want to be able to pitch, 
why, go ahead and learn how. Practise, watch 
other pitchers, attend all the games you can, 
and in time you may be able to play respect- 

" But good gracious ! " exclaimed Chris, 
aghast, " the game comes off this afternoon." 

" Oh, you can't pitch in that game," said the 
genie ; " that 's out of the question. But I '11 
tell you what I '11 do : I '11 take your place." 

" Did you ever play ball ? " asked Chris. 

"Never; but you know me" laughed the 
genie. " Yes, I '11 take your place, and no one 
will ever know the difference." 

"No, you won't," said Chris, stubbornly. 
" I '11 play myself, and I '11 win, too." 

" Let us hope so," said the genie, shrugging 
his shoulders. " If you want me, send for me. 
I don't think I 'd better make any engagement 
for this afternoon." 

" You may go," said the boy, abruptly ; and 
his slave vanished. 

Chris was greatly disappointed by the out- 
come of this interview. He left the barn, filled 

with misgivings as to the result of the game. 
How bitterly he now regretted his success in 
gaining the confidence of the Lincolnville 
boys ! If he failed to make good his promise, 
he would be the laughing-stock of both nines. 

His nervousness communicated itself to Bob, 
who could not imagine what had "come over" 
his cousin, and that afternoon the two boys 
appeared upon the ball-ground with very long 
faces. Bob had begun to fear that Chris was 
going to make a failure of his self-imposed task, 
and Chris was almost sure of it. 

The field was located in a pasture just back 
of Bob's house. As Chris entered it, he was 
met by Nat Marston, who was captain of the 
Uusenbury nine. Nat greeted him with : 

"Why, hallo, Chris; what are you doing 
here ? " 

" I 'm in Lincolnville on a visit to my cousin; 
that little fellow over there." 

" Bob Green ? Oh, I know him ; did n't 
know he was your cousin. So you 're going 
to be one of the spectators, eh ? " 

" Not exactly," replied Chris, assuming an 
air of importance. " I 'm to pitch for the Lin- 

" Wha-a-at ? " cried Nat, in astonishment. 

Chris repeated the assertion. 

" How did they happen to put you in ? " 
asked Nat, with a stifled laugh. 

" Because they thought I could fill the bill," 
returned Chris, stiffly. 

" Well, I 'm glad they did " ; and Nat ran 
off chuckling to tell his men the news. 

A few minutes later the game was called ; the 
Lincolnvilles were at the bat, the Dusenburys 
in the field. 

The Dusenbury pitcher was looked upon by 
the boys as a phenomenon, for he was master 
of a very peculiar and difficult curve. On this 
occasion he began well for his reputation, for 
two of the Lincolnvilles struck out without 
touching the ball. 

" Now, then, show us what you can do, 
Wagstaff!" shouted Sam Reid, the captain of 
the Lincolnville nine, to Chris, who was third 
batter; at which several of the Dusenbury 
boys smiled audibly. 

As a " teaser " the pitcher delivered a ball 
that was beyond Chris's reach. He struck at 




it, missed it, of course, and the umpire promptly 
called : 

" One strike ! " 

The plainly expressed derision of the Dusen- 
burys added to poor Chris's nervousness, and 
he allowed a fair ball to pass without striking. 

" Strike two ! " shouted the umpire. 

Then Chris " swiped " excitedly at another 
wild ball; and, amid the uproarious laughter 
of the Dusenbury boys, the umpire declared : 

"Three strikes, and out! Side out." 

The crestfallen Lincolnvilles took the field. 
As Chris entered the pitcher's box, the captain 
said to him, half angrily, half entreatingly : 

" Now go ahead and show what you are 
made of." 

"I will, I must!" muttered Chris. "There's 
no such word as fail." 

But in this case there was. When, after a 
great preparatory splurge, that was watched 
sneeringly by the Dusenbury boys and in silent, 
breathless expectation by the Lincolnvilles, he 
delivered the ball, it hit the first Dusenbury 

" Take your base ! " called the umpire. 

With an ugly look at Chris, the batter trotted 
down to first; and several very uncomplimentary 
comments on his playing reached the pitcher's 
ears — for which they were probably intended. 

Then two men in succession took their bases 
on balls, which made three bases full. 

At this point Phil Burns, who was consid- 
ered a " crack " batsman, came to bat, and 
knocked a ball down against the barn. This 
was the longest hit ever made on that field ; 
three men were brought home on bases, while 
Phil made a home-run. The game then stood 
four for the Dusenburys to nothing for the 

During the remainder of the inning the Dus- 
enburys batted Chris all over the field, to the 
intense disgust of the Lincolnvilles, who were 
not allowed to change pitchers, which they 
would have done could they have gained the 
consent of their opponents. When they were 
finally put out by a foul fly, captured by the 
catcher, and two field flies, caught by Bob and 
the left-fielder, the score stood thirteen to no- 

The Dusenburys trotted out into the field 

with a very jubilant air; the Lincolnvilles were 
correspondingly depressed. 

" It was a mighty lucky thing for us," Chris 
heard the Dusenbury catcher say, " that those 
fellows took it into their heads to put Wagstaff 
in as pitcher." 

" I don't see it," grumbled the boy to whom 
he spoke. "Why, there 's no fun in the game; 
it 's simply a walk-over." 

Before Chris had recovered from this blow, 
Bob came running up, his chubby face crimson 
with excitement and mortification. 

" See here, Chris," he began, " what 's the 
matter with you ? The fellows are all going 
for me because I had you put in. Why, you 're 
ruining everything! For goodness' sake, brace 

" I guess things will go better in the next 
inning," responded Chris, with a sickly smile. 
" I 'm sure they will." 

At first they did. Eight runs were scored 
before it came Chris's turn at bat, when he 
promptly struck out. The man who followed 
him sent a hot grounder into the left field, 
making a beautiful base hit ; after which, by 
skilful base-running, he stole his way around, 
getting in another run for the Lincolnvilles. 
The next man succeeded in getting to third 
base, where he was caught by a tricky play 
between the baseman and the pitcher, and 
walked down to the bench with an air of an- 
gry disgust. The next player was stopped at 
first, which sent the Lincolnvilles into the field 

" See here, Wagstaff," shouted the captain, 
as Chris advanced toward the pitcher's box, 
" you can take the right field. We 've had 
enough of your pitching for a while." 

As Chris walked away in deep humiliation, 
he heard Bob appointed pitcher. This added 
to his nervousness, and in his new position he 
muffed two easy flies ; and the Dusenbury boys 
scored eleven more runs on that inning. 

Chris 's ill luck continued; and at the end of 
the sixth inning the Dusenburys were eighteen 

At this juncture Chris walked up to Sam 
Reid and said shortly : 

" I want leave of absence for a few minutes." 

" What for ? " asked the captain. 




"I — it 's rime for me to take my medicine." 

" Well, I guess you need it," said Sam, point- 
edly. " Go ahead, but get back in time to take 
your place as fourth striker. We '11 have to go 
right on." 

It 7CHis time for Chris to take his medicine, 
but it was not for that purpose that he ran back 
to the house. 

" I '11 show them ! " he muttered fiercely as 
he ascended to his room. " Those Dusenbury 
fellows will be laughing out of the other side of 
their mouths before the next inning is over." 

He unlocked his valise and took out the 
lamp and rubbed it; instantly Pulsifer Jukes 
stood before him, a broad grin on his face. 

" I 've been expecting you to call me for the 
last hour," he said. " Really, I don't know 
when I 've laughed so much." 

" You 've seen the game, have you ? " asked 
Chris, trying to assume a careless air. 

" Yes," giggled the genie, " I had the curi- 
osity to be on hand. Such playing ! He ! he ! 
he ! Say, did you ever see a game of base-ball 
before ? Honest, now ! " 

" Between you and Bob and the rest of 
them," returned the boy hotly, " I was so rat- 
tled that I could n't play at all." 

"That 's right, blame me!" shrieked the 
genie. " Why don't you say it was all my 
fault ? See here, what do you want this time ? " 

" I want you to change yourself into my 
double and play the game for me." 

"Enough said.'" And the genie rushed from 
the room. 

From his window, Chris saw his representa- 
tive take his place to strike. The three men 
preceding him had all made base hits, and the 
bases were full. The genie's appearance was 
greeted by a despairing groan from the Lin- 
colnvilles, and one boy said : 

" If we only had a batter like Phil Burns he 
would bring in these three men ; but there 's no 
show now." 

The first ball was an easy one, but the genie 
missed it by at least a foot; at which a Dusen- 
bury boy called out, " He has holes in his bat! " 
and every one laughed, though the manifesta- 
tions of mirth on the part of the Lincolnvilles 
were by no means as boisterous as those in 
which the Dusenburys saw fit to indulge. 

When the genie failed to hit the second ball, 
Chris murmured despairingly : 

" He can build palaces, but he can't play ball 
for sour apples. I might have known — By 
jingo ! " 

The genie had struck the third pitched ball 
such a terrific blow that the bat broke in two. 
Toward the barn, then over it, went the ball, 
every boy in the field staring at it in amaze- 
ment. Phil Burns's hit was as nothing com- 
pared with it. 

Down near third the Lincolnville coacher 
was shrieking frantically : 

" Sprint, • you snails, sprint ! Gre-e-at Scott ! 
■was n't that a dandy crack ! " 

The attention of the spectators was almost 
diverted from the three men already on bases, 
who were running for home, by the amazing 
swiftness of the genie as he scudded down to 
first. Having arrived there, he stopped and 
stared about him, an expression of perplexity 
upon his face, as if looking for the ball. 

In his excitement at this singular conduct on 
the part of his representative, Chris entirely for- 
got himself, and yelled, " What 's the matter 
with you ? Run ! " But luckily the tumult on 
the diamond was so great that no one heard 

"What on earth ails you, Wagstaff ?" shouted 
the captain. " Have you gone to sleep there ? " 

By this time the boy who had been on first 
when the strike was made reached third, and 
started for the home-plate, the other two having 
already scored. 

The genie now apparently roused himself, 
and resumed his run at the same rate of speed 
that had so astonished the boys when he was 
on his way to first. He crossed second base 
like an express train, whizzed down to third like 
a flash; and in another second, after nearly run- 
ning over the man ahead of him, landed on 
the home-plate, having first turned a com- 
plete double somersault. 

He did not appear to be in the least out of 
breath as he cried : 

" Score Wagstaff! " 

A scene of frenzied enthusiasm in the ranks 
of the Lincolnvilles followed; the Dusenburys 
seemed paralyzed with astonishment and dis- 




Bob rushed up to the genie and shook his 
hand violently, saying: 

" You must n't mind what I said a while ago, 
Chris — I was excited. Why, I never saw any- 
thing like that rua in my life." 

" Oh. that was nothing ! " replied the genie, 
carelessly. " You '11 see queerer things than 
that if you stay right here and keep your eye 
on me. As for what you said, I don't remem- 
ber anything about it, and it would n't make 
any difference to me if I did." 

" It 's awful good of you to say that," mur- 
mured Bob, gratefully. 

A new ball was now put into play, a small 
boy having been despatched in search of the 
other one. 

The genie's feat seemed to have put new life 
into the Lincolnvilles ; every man played, as 
Bob put it, "for all he was worth." At the end 
of the first half of the seventh inning, the home 
club had scored fourteen more runs, the genie 
having made another astonishing home-run. 

The Lincolnvilles now felt that they had a 
reasonable chance of success ; the Dusenburys 
agreed with them, and were evidently losing 

" You 're a queer fellow, Chris Wagstaff," 
said Sam Reid to the genie. " Why did n't 
you show what you could do before ? " 

" That 's all right," responded the playful 
spirit, with a knowing wink. " There 's more 
to this business than you have any idea of, 
my friend. Do you want to put me back as 
pitcher ? " 

This was exactly what the captain had in- 
tended to do, and he replied : 

" I suppose I may as well." 

" You could n't do better," the smiling genie 
replied, and he took his place in the pitcher's 

As Phil Burns came to bat, the captain of 
the Dusenburys said to him : " Now go ahead 
and show what 's in you, old man ! " and Phil 
replied with a confident smile, "Don't worry! 
I '11 knock Chris Wagstaff all over the field." 

As the first ball left the genie's hand, it 
looked very wild ; observing which, Phil de- 
cided that it must pass at least three feet be- 
yond the plate. So he stood with his bat over 
his shoulder expecting the umpire to call a ball. 

But to his amazement, the ball gave a sudden 
twist through the air and passed exactly over 
the plate. 

" Strike one ! " called the umpire. 

" How did Chris ever get on to that/" mut- 
tered the batter. " Well, no matter. I '11 knock 
the cover off it next time." 

The next ball seemed an easy one, being 
apparently just where Phil wanted it, and he 
struck at it with tremendous energy, expecting 
to put it down against the barn at least. But 
it seemed to dodge round the end of his bat, 
and curved into the catcher's hands. 

" Strike two ! " announced the umpire, while 
Phil dropped his bat in amazement. 

A murmur of applause rose from the Lin- 
colnvilles, but was quickly suppressed by a 
gesture from the captain. 

His face rather pale, Phil picked up the bat, 
but he could not regain his confidence. The 
next ball started as well as its predecessor had 
done ; but as the batter struck at it, it seemed 
to jump at least two feet in the air, and was 
missed by Phil, though easily captured by the 

" Strike three — striker out! "promptly shouted 
the umpire. 

As Phil walked away, his face expressing all 
the mortification he felt, Bob Green shouted to 
the captain, who was playing first : 

" Did n't I tell you Chris could do it ? Are 
you sorry you took him now ? " 

The rest of the Lincolnville Club were quite 
as delighted as was Bob ; if the supposed Chris 
kept on as he had begun, their triumph seemed 

Phil's successor at the bat, who was at best 
an inferior player, was so completely demoral- 
ized by what he had just witnessed that he al- 
lowed two good balls to pass without striking 
at them, and then lunged furiously at one which 
he could not by any possibility have touched. 

As he heard the familiar " plunk " of the ball 
as it struck the catcher's gloved hands, and the 
shrill voice of the umpire pronouncing him 
" out," he dashed the bat to the ground and 
made room for the next striker, who, though 
considered strong in his batting, also failed to 
touch the ball. 

As the genie sauntered toward the home- 



plate, a complacent smile on his face, little Bob 
turned a handspring and screamed : 

"A whitewash ! We 're all right, boys ! " 

The Dusenburys entered the field this time 
with very long faces; while the Lincolnvilles 
came up to the bench in a sprightly manner 
that was in marked contrast to their demeanor 
of a short time before. 

The eighth inning was, from start to finish, 
a triumph for the home club, which succeeded 
in obtaining eleven runs, the genie maintain- 
ing his — or, rather, Chris's — reputation, 
making two more home-runs, easy 
ones, this time. The Dusenburys 
finally succeeded in getting the 
Lincolnvilles out, but the 
genie's pitching was as 
wonderful as at first, for 
he struck out three men 
in rapid succession, plac- 
ing another whitewash 
on the visitors. The 
Lincolnvilles were now 
seven ahead. 

From his station at 
the window, Chris saw 
the Lincolnville boys 
crowding around the 
genie, and it must be 
confessed that he felt a 
little envious. 

" He played mighty 
well, there 's no mistake 
about that," he muttered; 
" but why could n't I 
have done it ? I can, 
another time. I don't 
like the idea of taking 
credit for what I have n't 
done, either. I believe 
I '11 go down and finish 
the game. The Dusen- 
burys can't possibly win 

As the Lincolnvilles gathered near the bench, 
Chris seized the lamp and rubbed it. Instantly 
the genie stood before his master. 

"What do you want?" he asked excitedly, 
wiping the perspiration from his brow. " I can't 
stop to fool with you now. Out with it." 
Vol. XXII.— 70. 

" I sha'n't need you any more this after- 
noon," said Chris. " I 'm going down to plav 
the last inning myself." 

" You 're what ? " shrieked the genie, 
turning almost purple. " Are you crazy ? 
Why, see here, I 've got things fixed now 
so that the Lincolnvilles are sure to win the 
game, but you '11 — " 

" That '11 do! Disappear! " interrupted Chris. 

The next moment he was alone. 

'this time he looked like a composite lion and unicorn, with a slight 
suggestion of war-horse." (see page 548.) 

" Where have you been ? " asked the captain 
of the Lincolnvilles as Chris hurried down to 
the diamond, comprehending that the game 
had been going on during his interview with 
the genie. " Been to take another dose of 
medicine ? We want you on hand all the 




time ; you 're our mascot. Why, since you 've 
been gone two men have been put out." 

" I 'm all ready for business now," replied 
Chris. " When do I come to bat ? " 

But Chris performed no such feat; he had 
become so nervous that he pitched four "balls" 
in succession, giving the next man his base. 

At this the Dusenburys brightened up still 


more, and the next man sent an elusive 

" Oh, it won't be your turn for some time 
yet," answered Sam. 

As it happened, Chris's turn did not come at 
all, for the third batsman struck out as promptly 
as his predecessors. 

Having whitewashed their opponents, the 
Dusenburys came in from the field feeling that 
if Chris's pitching did not prove too much for 
them, they still had a slight chance of winning. 

The " mascot " went into the box with a 
good deal of confidence in his ability to do 
some extraordinary playing. But this feeling 
was soon dispelled ; for the first man at bat 
knocked a long fly that passed over the center- 
fielder's head, and he reached third before the 
ball was restored to the diamond. 

At this the Lincolnvilles looked rather 
startled ; but Bob confidently asserted : 

" That 's all right ; it was nothing but an 
accident. Watch him paralyze the next man ! " 

grounder skipping past the short-stop ; and, 
amid great excitement, two men scored, which 
brought the Lincolnville lead down to five. 

Then, although the next batsman successfully 
" pounded " the ball, it proved an easy fly, 
and was gathered in by an outfielder. 

But in spite of this slight encouragement to 
the Lincolnvilles, Chris continued to pitch 
badly, and the Dusenburys filled the bases. 

The excitement was now at a white heat. 
At this critical point it was Phil Burns's turn 
to strike. 

" Now, then," implored Nat Marston, " bring 
in those men. You can do it if you only think 
so. The barn is in the same place it was be- 
fore ! " 

Chris set his teeth, muttering : 

" He sha'n't send it down to the barn this 




Nor did he ; but he hit the very first ball, 
and sent it soaring to the furthest limit of the 
left field, which had been left open. 

The coacher literally howled himself hoarse 
as the runners tore around the bases and came 
to the plate in rapid succession, Phil closing 
with a home-run. The Dusenburys' chance of 
capturing the honors now seemed very bright ; 
for they had only one man out, and it was 
necessary for them to make but one run to 
tie and two to beat. 

" We 've got 'em now, boys ! " shrieked the 
Dusenbury captain. " We '11 take 'em into 
camp, sure as fate ! " 

The Lincolnville boys were filled with con- 
sternation ; and Sam Reid asked the umpire to 
call " time," which favor was granted. Then 
he walked up close to 
Chris, and said in a 
low tone and in a 
wrathful, threatening 
manner : 

" See here, Wag- 
staff, you 're 'throw- 
ing ' this game. If we 
lose, we shall know 
whom to blame." 

And then, without 
stopping to listen 
to Chris's indignant 
expostulation, he re- 
turned to his place, 
and signaled to the 
umpire that he was 
ready to continue the 

Poor Chris's brain 
was in a whirl, and 
he so far forgot him- 
self as to toss in a 
ball. This, however, 
proved the best thing 
that could have hap- 
pened; for it was 
quite unexpected, 
and the batsman sent up a foul fly, which was 
secured by the catcher. 

" Two men out ! " murmured Chris. " Now if 

I can only catch the next fellow, I '11 save the 
game after all." 

But the " next fellow " went to first on balls, 
reached second on a " pass," stole third, and 
came home on a " liner " muffed by Chris. 

This muff and a wild throw to first allowed 
the striker to get down to second. 

The score was now a tie. If the rrjan on 
second could reach home, the Dusenburys 
would be victorious. 

Both clubs were now literally breathless with 
suspense. As the Dusenburys were playing 
on a " broken leg," the coacher instructed 
the runner to take every chance ; following 
which advice, he succeeded in sneaking to 
third. The batter brought him home, and the 
Lincolnvilles were beaten. 

Chris was so sick at heart 
that he scarcely knew how 
he pitched the next ball, 
and he knew still 
less how it hap- 
pened that he 
caught the 
hot "liner" 
that came 
from the 



Thus ended, in favor of the Dusenburys, the 
most remarkable game ever played on that 
field — or perhaps on any other. 

(To be continued.) 



. -i^ 

t 'V ; 4 i 



(A Story in Rhyme. ) 

By Tudor Jenks. 

Once on a time, long, long ago 

(To-day things do not happen so), 

There lived a King and a noble Queen 

And the fairest Princess ever seen. 

She was fair, and she was stately, 

And both her parents loved her greatly. 

They gave her necklaces and rings, 

Toys and candies, and lots of things — 

Everything her heart could wish, 

To a big glass globe of golden fish, 

And a lovely golden thimble, too, 

In an elegant case of ormolu. 

Now, every Prince in that lovely land 

Sought to win her shapely hand. 

Some were poor, and some had money ; 

Some were dull, and some were funny ; 

Some were brave as Julius Ca;sar, 

Some were not — but none could please her. 

At length the King said, "You must 
marry : 
Indeed, you should not longer tarry. 
I 'm getting old, my hair is gray, 
I may resign, now, any day; 
I don't like you to reign alone — 
Some worthy Prince should share your throne. 
So choose whatever Prince you may 
In any manner, form, or way. 
Whate'er you wish, it shall be done; 
But fix your choice, my love, on one." 
The Queen, too, in her dulcet voice 
Remarked : " Indeed, do make a choice. 
Propose, then, some ingenious plan 
By which we may select the man. 
For Princesses, the single state 
Is altogether out of date." 

The Princess sighed. Said she, " Papa, 
I wish to please you and mama. 
But really, I would like some hints 
To know how best to choose a Prince. 
I 'd like to have one rather tall — 
A king, I 'm sure, should not be small — 
And not too dark, but not too fair; 
No dandy, but one dressed with care ; 

A man as wise as he can be, 
But not too wise for foolish me ; 
A man who writes a sparkling letter, 
And if he dances, all the better; 
A warrior, if he draws his sword, 
A monarch worthily adored — 
In short, I 'd have a perfect man, 
Or one as near that as I can." 

The Queen looked vexed. The father 
" Quite right," he said, " my darling child ! 
Aim high, and do your best, my dear ; 
But I have looked for many a year 


To find within the whole world wide 
A Prince who 's worthy such a bride : 




And all in vain. But I will do 
Whatever you can wish me to. 
Some men are wise, and some are bright, 
And some in war do most delight : 
While others love the peaceful arts. 
No actor can play all the parts 
Upon the stage. But there 's a plan 
By which to find this perfect man. 
It shall be tried, and we will see 
Exactly what the end shall be. 
We '11 summon all the Princes here, 
And then we '11 prove them all, my dear, 
Until, when every Prince is tried, 
The best shall win a peerless bride ! " 

Full of devotion to the brim. 
What parlous feat would one not dare, 
To win a Princess sweet and fair 
Who brought as portion with her hand 
The throne of such a thriving land ? 

Among them was a Prince whose name 
As yet was all unknown to fame; 
He 'd learned to fight, and dance, and sing, 
But was not best at anything. 
But he had pluck, and, lacking skill, 
He never failed for want of will. 
He did his best. 

First, lists were set, 

'quite right,' he said, 'my darling child.' 

From far and near the Princes come 
With sound of trumpet and of drum; 
On foot, in litters, and by sea — 
But all of royal pedigree, 
All young, all gallant, all in trim, 

And eagerly the warriors met. 
With lance in rest and vizor down, 
All rode to win the floral crown 
With which to deck the royal brow 
And win the royal beauty's bow. 




The strongest won : a mighty Knight 
Quite six feet tall, in armor bright. 

The Prince not best at anything 
Fell early in the jousting-ring 
Without a word. 

Then songs were sung, 
And on the breezes sweet notes rung. 
The mighty Knight did not appear : 
For music he had not an ear — 
A stripling clever won the prize, 
And blushed beneath the lady's eyes. 

The Prince not best at anything 
Had even dared to play and sing, 
But could not win. 

Then came the chance 
For those who 'd learned to skip and dance. 
In whirls and mazes round they went 
Within a lofty dancing-tent ; 
They pirouetted, slid, and skipped, 
And on the very air they tripped. 
The Minstrel and the Man of Might 

Were certainly nowhere in sight ; 
The Warrior was by far too strong — 
The Minstrel cared for naught save song. 

The Prince not best at anything 
Essayed a sort of Highland fling, 
But yielded to a foreign Knight 
Who danced upon a foot as light 
As thistle-down, and won the prize 
Beyond a doubt. 

Then each one tries 
His skill at games and riddles fit 
To test his nimbleness of wit. 
The three prize-winners stood aside, 
They did not care to risk their pride 
Except where they had proved their skill. 
But still strove on the Prince of will. 
Here, too, he failed again to win, 
But stood quite ready to begin 
Another task. 

Then said the King: 
'The reason that I strove to bring 

5 6 ° 



Together here these Princes true, 
Was that no other plan I knew 
By which to find what suitor best 
Would prove, when I applied the test. 
Some men are good, and some are wise, 
And some for skill and enterprise 
Are most renowned. In all the band 
Which one deserves my daughter's hand?" 

Then proudly rose the warrior Knight : 
" I am the winner in the fight. 
Give her to me. It is my right." 

The Minstrel spoke : "The wreath was mine 
For minstrelsy. I must decline 
To yield my claim. You can but shine 
In warfare's arts, and there alone!" 

The Dancer spoke in milder tone : 
" What is a Prince if lacking grace ? 
Let War and Song take lower place ; 
Grace wins the bride of kingly race ! " 
And all pressed forward, claims to bring, 
Save one not best at anything. 

Then spake the Princess, very low, 
Unto the King : " I did not know — 
/ cannot dance, nor fight, nor sing. 
/ am not best at anything. 
I fear these others all would be 
By far too wise or brave for me ! 
Pray let them go ; and give my ring 
To him not best at anything. 
Let them each glory in his art, 
The Prince who dared has won my 
heart ! " 

And so the one who gained the 
Was he who every contest tried. 
Who did not under trial quail 
But dared to enter, strive, and — fail! 
He did his best at everything, 
And proved a really model King. 

To-day it might not turn out so — 
All this was — oh, long, long ago! 




By Howard Pyle. 

[Begun in the April number, fSgj.] 

Chapter XL. 


As the boat swept into the great lift and fall 
of the ocean swell, Dred leaned forward and 
rested his forehead upon the tiller, which he 
still held. His body shook and heaved, and Jack 
sat like one turned to stone. The thought went 
through his mind, " He is dying ! Will he die 
as he sits there ? Can it really be that he is 
dying ? " Then Dred looked up, and his face 
was as white as ashes. Great beads of sweat 
stood on his forehead. " Some water," he said 
hoarsely. " Give me some water, lad." 

Miss Eleanor Parker still lay in the bottom 
of the boat where she had been sheltered. 
Jack went forward blindly across the thwarts, 
and brought out a cup of water. His hand 
shook and trembled ; his eyes saw, but did not 
see what he was doing. His throat was con- 
stricted as though it would choke him. Then 
he came back with the cup of water ; it slopped 
and spilled over his hand. Suddenly Miss Elea- 
nor Parker shrieked. She had aroused ; in her 
first glance she had seen the blood. " Oh, what 
is it ? " she cried. Dred had raised himself 
again from the tiller, upon which he had been 
leaning. He groaned. Jack pushed past the 
young lady, without speaking to her or noticing 
her. Dred reached out his hand as Jack gave 
him the cup of water. It shook, and part of the 
water spilled as Dred put it to his lips and, throw- 
ing back his haggard face, drank it off. The 
young lady was sitting staring at him, white even 
to the very lips. "Oh, oh!" she said, wring- 
ing her hands. " Oh, oh ! " Jack panted ; his 
breath came hot in his dry mouth. He tried 
to moisten his lips again and again, but they 
remained dry. 

The yawl, its course unheeded, had come up 
into the wind. It rose and fell with the slow 
Vol. XXII.— 71. 561 

heaving of the ground-swell, the sail fluttering 
and flapping. Dred leaned with one elbow 
upon the seat beside him. " Ye '11 have to 
go up for'ard, Mistress," he said presently, in a 
hoarse voice, " till I tie this place up." She 
got up and went forward to the bow, where 
she crouched down, hiding her face in her 
hands. She remained there a long time, until 
at last she heard Jack say : 

" 'T is all right, Mistress. You can come 
back here again now." 

He supported Dred as the wounded man lay 
down upon the bench ; then he covered him 
over with the overcoats. He did not leave 
Dred to help the young lady as she came aft. 
She sat down upon the bench opposite to where 
Dred lay. She looked at him, and then sud- 
denly burst out crying. Dred lay with his eyes 
closed. His face was white, and his forehead 
covered with a dew of sweat. He opened his 
eyes for a moment and looked at her, but said 
nothing, and closed them again. Jack, his 
breast heaving and choking, sat at the tiller. 
He drew in the sheets, and the yawl once 
more came up to its course. 

The pirates must have landed from the sloop, 
for they had come out across the land and 
down to the beach. They fired a few musket- 
shots after the boat, but the bullets went wide 
of the mark; and presently, as Jack held the 
yawl to her course, they were out of gunshot. 
Dred lay motionless, his head upon his arm. 
He had begun every now and then to sigh 
recurrently. He opened his eyes and looked 
at Jack and then at the sail. The young lady 
was sobbing and crying; and Jack, as he looked 
at Dred, felt the tears running down his own 

They sailed on and on, the boat with its 
tragic freight, under the bright, warm, mellow 
light and the sweep of the wind. Jack won- 
dered how the sun could shine so brightly, and 



the air be so sweet and fresh. " I want another 
^drink of water," said Dred, hoarsely. 

■" Will you get the water for him, Mistress ? " 
-said Jack. 

She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, 
and went forward to the barraca in the bows, 
presently coming back with a brimming cup 
of water. Dred raised himself upon his elbow, 
and drank it off. Then he lay down again as 
he was before. For a long time he lay there with 
his eyes closed. Again they sailed a long dis- 
tance. Presently he opened his eyes. "You've 
got to run ashore, lad," he said in a low, un- 
certain voice. " I can't stand this any more ; 
I 've got to get ashore." 

" Can I get through the breakers ? " said 
Jack chokingly. 

"Ye '11 have to," said Dred; "for I can't 
bear it here." Jack drew in the sheet and 
brought up the boat with its bow diagonally 
toward the shore. The sand-hills of the inlet 
were lost in the distance. All danger of pur- 
suit was over. As the yawl drew nearer to the 
beach, Jack could see that very little surf was 
running. " You '11 have to bring her around 
with her bows to the sea," said Dred, opening 
his eyes ; " and then take to the oars and let 
the surf drive her in to the beach. Try to keep 
her off, lad ; keep her bows steady." He panted 
as he spoke. 

Jack left the tiller and shipped the oars. 
They were now close to the beach, and the 
ground-swell was sharpening to the breakers 
that broke a little further in. He brought the 
bows of the boat around to the sea, and then 
backed water toward the shore. " Keep her 
off," panted Dred; "she '11 go in fast enough 
of herself." 

Presently they were among the breakers ; 
these were not very heavy, but enough to make 
it necessary to be careful. Suddenly a coming 
breaker shot the yawl toward the beach. As 
the water ebbed, the boat tilted upon the sand. 
Jack dropped his oars and leaped out. The 
sweep of the next wave struck against the yawl 
.and tilted it violently the other way. The bar- 
raca and the oars slid rattling. Dred groaned, 
and the young lady grasped convulsively at 
the rail. 

Jack held to the bows, and when the next 


wave came he pulled the boat around up on 
the beach. The wash of the breaker ebbed, the 
sand sliding from under his heels. Then came 
another wave, and with its wash he dragged 
the yawl still further up the beach. He ran up 
with the bow-line and drove the anchor into 
the sand. He came back, his shoes and stock- 
ings and loose breeches wet with the salt wa- 
ter. "You get out, Mistress," said he; "then 
I '11 help Dred." She obeyed him silently. 
She went up a little distance from the shore, and 
sat crouching down upon the sand. " Now, 
Dred," said Jack. Dred groaned as he arose 
slowly and laboriously. " Easy, easy, lad," said 
he, as Jack slipped his arm around him. He 
laid his arm over Jack's shoulder, and heavily 
and painfully clambered out of the boat. He 
sat for a while upon the rail ; the wash of a 
breaker swept up around his feet and ankles. 
" What a lucky thing 't was," said he, look- 
ing down at the thin sweep of water, " that 
we had high tide to carry us through the inlet, 
else we 'd 'a' been lost." He steadied himself. 
Then he rose, leaning heavily upon Jack. Jack 
supported him as he walked up to a little bank 
of sand upon the beach. He made an effort 
as though to sit down. 

" Can't you go a little further ? " said Jack. 

" Not much further," he whispered. 

" Oh, Dred," said Jack, " I 'm afraid you 're 
worse — I 'm afraid you 're worse!" Dred did 
not reply. His hand touched Jack's cheek. It 
felt cold and limp. 

"What can I do?" asked the young lady, 
rousing herself. 

" Why," said Jack, " fetch up what wraps 
there are, and the overcoats, and be quick." 

He seated Dred upon the sand. Dred sank 
down, and lay at length. Jack supported his 
head until the young lady came with a great 
heap of clothes. Then Jack made a pillow of 
one of the overcoats, and with some of the 
clothes from the young lady's bundle they 
made a shelter for Dred's face. 

" Bring me a drink of rum, lad; I feel sort of 
faint-like," said Dred. Jack ran off down to 
the boat, and presently came back with the 
bottle. He poured out some of it into the cup, 
and Dred drank it off. It seemed to revive 
him. "Come here, lad; there 's summat I want 



to say to ye." Jack came close to him, and 
the young lady also approached. " I want to 
speak to Jack alone, Mistress, if you '11 leave 
us alone a bit," said Dred. She turned and 
walked away. 

Jack watched her as she sat down upon the 
sand some distance away, wiping her eyes with 
her handkerchief. The sun stood midway in 
the heavens, and it was very warm. Jack 
stripped off his coat and sat down alongside 
Dred. Dred reached out his hand. Jack hesi- 
tated for a moment; then, seeing what Dred 
wanted, took it. Dred pressed Jack's hand. 
" I believe I 've got my — dose this time, lad," 
he whispered. 

" Don't say that, Dred," said Jack. " I — " 
and then he broke down, his body shaking 

" I don't know," said Dred. " I kind of 
think — I won't get over this. But if I should 
die, — I want to ax you, lad, — don't you ever 
tell the young Mistress 't was I that shot her 

" No, I won't," gasped Jack; " I won't tell 
her, Dred." 

Dred pressed the hand he held. " There 's 
another thing — I want to tell ye, lad," said 
he; "and that 's about that there money — as 
we took out of that there Virginia bark when 
— I shot the young gentleman. 'T was true, 
as I have told you, that — 't was buried ; but 
't were n't true that I helped the Captain bury 
it. He buried it hisself one night; but I fol- 
lyed him, and I see where he buried it. He 
did n't know that — " Dred stopped for a moment, 
as though to gather his strength — "it belong 
to Colonel Parker. It do. It was buried — 
just as we got it off the bark." Again he 
stopped, panting. " Well, one thing I wanted 
to stay there for, Jack, was to get a chance 
to — raise that there money that we stole. 
But I did n't say naught ; for I knew where 
't were hid. Well, I 've stole money and 
things in my life — and I 've been a bad man, 
I have. Well, lad, I can't help that now; 'tis 
all over and done." 

He stopped again. Jack waited a long time. 
" You were telling me about the money," said 
he at last — "the money that you saw Black- 
beard hide." 


" Oh, ay ! " said Dred, rousing himself with 
an effort. " I 'd nigh — forgot about — that — 
ay, the money. Well, lad, — d' ye remember 

— that tree — where — we found the — young 
lady the day — she tried to run away ? D' ye 
think ye could find it again ? " 

" I think I could," said Jack. 

" Well, up a little bit to the west o'-^ that 
tree — there be a cypress, — some'eres half 
grown. Ye '11 have to look about a bit — to 
find it. Ye '11 find a nail — driv into it. I see 
Blackbeard drive that nail — into it — that — 
night he buried the chist. 'T is not much to 
know it by — but if Blackbeard ha'n't gone 

— and dug up that money, — which I don't be- 
lieve he has, — it be there yet." 

" Which side of the tree is the nail on ? " 
said Jack. 

Dred did not answer for a while. " 'T is 
on the swamp side," said he. Then he lapsed 
away into silence. He loosened his hold upon 
Jack's hand, and let his own fall. 

Jack recognized suddenly, with a thrill, that 
Dred was a great deal worse than he had been. 
He had been growing gradually weaker and 
weaker, but Jack noticed it only now. Jack sat 
watching; Dred seemed to be drowsing. "I 
want another drink of rum," said he, presently ; 
" I feel weak again." 

Jack got up. The bottle and cup were at a 
little distance. The cup had sand in it, and he 
wiped it out. The young lady was sitting a 
little distance away. She arose. " Is he any 
better now ? " she asked. 

Jack could not answer. He shook his head. 
He knew that Dred was going to die. He 
was so blinded that he could hardly see to 
pour out the liquor. He brought it to Dred. 
" Here 't is, Dred," said he; but there was no 
reply. "Here 't is, Dred," said Jack again; 
but still there was no answer. 

Jack thrilled dreadfully. He bent down and 
set the cup to the wounded man's lips, but 
Dred was unconscious of everything. Jack 
stood up and tossed out the liquor upon the 
sand. " Mistress ! " he called out in a keen, 
startled voice ■ — " Mistress, come here ! I do 
believe he 's dying!" 

She came over and stood looking down at 
Dred. She was crying violently. Jack sat 

5 64 



squatting beside him. He reached out and 
picked up Dred's hand, but it was very cold 
and inert. The young lady sat down upon the 
other side. They sat there for a long, long 
time, but there did not seem to be any change. 
The afternoon slowly waned. It was nearing 
sunset. " You 'd better go and rest a bit," said 
Jack at last to the young lady ; " you 're worn 
out with it all. I '11 call you if there 's any 

She shook her head ; she would not go. 

The sun sank lower and lower, and at last 
set ; but still there was no change. The young 
lady moved restlessly now and then. " You 'd 
better get up and walk a bit," said Jack, as the 
gray of twilight began to settle upon them. 
" You 're cramped sitting there so long." Then 
she got up, and walked up and down at a little 
distance. Jack sat still. The twilight settled 
more and more dim and obscure. There was 
a slight movement. Jack leaned over and 
touched Dred. He drew back his hand 
quickly, and sat for a moment dumb and inert. 
He knew in an instant that the end had come. 

Jack arose. 

The stars had begun to twinkle in the dim 
sky, but sky and sea and earth were blurred 
and lost to his flooded eyes. He walked over 
toward the young lady. She stopped as he 
approached. "How is he?" said she. 

" He 's — he 's dead! " said Jack; and then 
he put his arm across his face and began crying. 

Chapter XLI. 


Jack was awakened at the first dawn of day 
by the sea-gulls above him. They mingled for 
a little while with his dreams before he fairly 
awoke. He was standing up. The sun was 
shining. There was the beach and the sandy 
distance. Dred came walking toward him up 
from the boat. A great sudden rush of joy 
filled Jack's heart. "Why, Dred," he cried, 
" I thought you were dead ! " Dred burst out 
laughing. " I was only fooling you, lad," said 
he. " I were n't hurt at all." 

Jack opened his eyes. The sun had not yet 
risen. He was full of the echo of joy, believ- 
ing that Dred was alive, after all. He stood up. 

The motionless figure was lying in the distance, 
just as he had left it the night before. 

But, after all, Dred might not be dead, and 
there might be some truth in his dream. He 
might have been mistaken last night. Perhaps 
Dred was still alive. 

He went over to where the silent figure lay, 
and looked down into the strange, still face, 
upon the stiff, motionless hands. Yes; Dred 
was dead. As Jack stood looking, he choked 
and choked, and one hot tear and then another 
trickled down either cheek. 

Then he began to think. What was he to do 
now ? Something must be done, and he must 
do it himself. He must not ask the young 
lady to help him. She had not yet awakened, 
and Jack was glad of it. He went down to the 
boat. There was nothing there that he could 
use. He walked off some distance along the 
beach, hunting for something. He saw some- 
thing in the distance. It was a barrel that had, 
perhaps, been cast up by a storm, and now lay 
high and dry upon the warm, powdered sand 
which had drifted around it, nearly covering it. 
He kicked the barrel to pieces with his heel, 
and pulled up two of the staves from the deeper 
layer of damp sand beneath. He had walked 
some distance away. He went back to where 
the still figure lay motionless in the distance. 

He was trembling when he ended his task. 
Suddenly, while he was still kneeling in the 
sand, the sun rose, throwing its level beams of 
light across the stretch of sand, now broken 
and trampled where he had been at work. 
He smoothed over the work he had made. 
The damper particles stuck to his hands and 
clothes ; he brushed them off. Then he took 
down the shelter that he and she had built up 
over Dred's head the day before. He carried 
the oars and the young lady's clothes down to 
the boat. Then he came back and carried 
down the overcoats. 

By that time she was awake. Jack went 
straight up to her. She was looking around 

"Where is he?" she said. 

Jack did not reply, but he turned his face in 
the direction. She saw where the smooth sur- 

.8 95 -: 


face of the sand had been broken and disturbed, 
and she understood. She hid her face in her 
hands, and stood for a moment. Jack stood 
silently beside her. " Oh," she said, " I was 
dreaming it was not so." 

" So was I," said Jack, brokenly. Again he 
felt a tear start down his cheek. 

" It did not seem to me as if it could be so," 
said she. " It does n't even seem now as though 
it were so. It was all so dreadful. It does n't 
seem as though it could have happened." 

" Well," said Jack, " we '11 have to have 
something to eat, and then we '11 start on 
again." The thought of eating in the very 
shadow of the tragedy that had happened 
seemed very grotesque. He felt somehow 
ashamed to speak of it. 

" Eat ! " said she. " I do not want to eat 

" We '11 have to eat something," said Jack ; 
" we can't do without that." 

The task of pushing the yawl off into the 
water was almost more than Jack could accom- 
plish. For a while he thought they would 
have to wait there till high tide in the after- 
noon. But at last, by digging out the sand 
from under the boat, he managed to get it off 
into the water. " I '11 have to carry you 
aboard, Mistress," said he. 

He stooped and picked her up, and walked 
with her, splashing through the shallow sheet of 
water that ran up with each spent breaker upon 
the shining sand. He placed her in the boat, 
and then pushed it off. The breakers were not 
high, but they gave the boat a splash as Jack 
pulled out through them. 

Jack rowed out some distance from the shore. 
She sat silently watching him. Then he un- 
shipped the oars and went forward and raised 
the sail. By this time the morning was well 
advanced. The breeze had not yet risen, but 
cat's-paws began to ruffle the smooth face of 
the water. Then, by and by, came a gentle 
puff of breeze that filled out the sail and 
swung the boom out over the water. Jack 
drew in the sheet, and the boat slid forward 
with a gurgle of water under the bows. By 
that time the breeze had begun blowing very 
lightly and gently. 


They had sailed on for a long distance with- 
out speaking. They sat motionless, he sunk in 
his thoughts, and she in hers. Jack was trying 
to realize all that had happened the day before, 
but he could not do so. It all seemed to loom 
big and dreadful, but there was nothing sharp 
and distinct in its outlines. It did not seem to 
be real. How was it possible for him to. pass 
through such things, and for them not to be 
more real to him ? It seemed as though it 
might have happened to some one else. The 
young lady sat looking steadily out ahead. 
What was she thinking of? Of Virginia, per- 
haps. Yes ; that must be it. And he was go- 
ing back to Virginia, too ; he would soon be 
there now — in a few hours, perhaps. How 
strange that he should be going back there — 
the very place from which he had: escaped two 
months before ! Was there ever anybody who 
had so many adventures happen to him in 
two months as he ? He remembered how he 
had run away; how he had rowed across the 
river the night of his escape ; how he had 
come so strangely face to face with Dred on 
the wharf at Bullock's Landing. Except for 
that chance meeting, Dred would have been 
living yet. How little they had thought of the 
chain of events that was to bring death to him! 
Dred was alive then, and well, and enjoying 
himself. Now he was dead. Then Jack re- 
membered how he had reached out the evening 
before, and had lifted Dred's senseless hand. 
There seemed to him something infinitely pa- 
thetic in the stillness and inertness of that un- 
feeling hand. 

" Do you know," said the young lady, sud- 
denly breaking the silence, " it does not seem 
possible that I am really to see my father again, 
and maybe so soon ? I 'm trying to feel as though 
it were so, but I can't. It does n't seem as though 
it could be so — as though I could really ever 
get back to Virginia. I wonder what they will 
all say and do ? Oh, it seems as though I 
could n't wait any longer ! I wonder how much 
further 't is to the bay ? " 

"Why, I don't know," said Jack; "but it 
can't be much further. I 've been thinking 
that those sand-hills on ahead must be Cape 
Henry. I only saw it in the evening, when I 
was on Blackbeard's sloop, the time we were 

5 66 



bringing you down to Bath Town ; but the 
hills look to me like Cape Henry. And, do 
you see, the coast runs inward there ? I can't 
tell whether 't is the coast making in a little 
there, or whether 't is the bay." 

" My father will never forget what you 've 
done," said she, looking straight at him. 

" Will he not ? " said Jack. 

" He will never forget it." 

Her words brought a sudden rush of delight 
to Jack. He suddenly realized what a great 
thing it was he had done. He had brought 
her safe off from the pirates — through the very 
jaws of death ! Yes ; it was a great thing to 
have done. Yes ; Colonel Parker would cer- 
tainly do much for him now. Indeed, what 
would he not do ? As he realized it all, the 
future became very bright. It seemed to throw 
back a brighter light upon all those dreadful 
things that had passed, and they became sud- 
denly new. They were steps that he had been 
climbing all unconsciously to some great success. 

" Do you know, you have never told me how 
you came to be kidnapped ? " said she. " I 
wish you would tell me all about it." 

" Would you like to hear about it ? " said 
Jack. " Why, then, I '11 tell you, if you 'd really 
like to hear about it." 

And Jack told his adventures from the be- 

It was late in the afternoon when the light 
wind carried them slowly in around the high 
sand-hills of the cape. Then they saw that 
there were several sails in sight. One of them, 
far away, — apparently a schooner, — was com- 
ing down the bay as though to run out around 
the cape to the southward. 

" See that boat ? " said the young lady. " It 
is coming this way. Don't you believe we could 
stop it, and get the captain to take us back to 
Virginia ? " 

" I don't know." said Jack; '• 't is like she won't 
stop for me, but I '11 try if you 'd like me to." 

He altered the course of the yawl so as to 
run up across the course upon which the distant 
vessel seemed to be sailing. They watched her 
in silence as slowly, little by little, in the light 
wind, she came nearer and nearer. " I ought 
to have something to wave," said Jack, " to 

make her see us. I don't believe she '11 stop 
for us," he added. 

" Why not my red scarf? " said the young 
lady. " Stop ! I '11 get it for you." 

She handed the bright red scarf to Jack, who 
tied it to the end of an oar. The schooner was 
about half a mile away. Jack stood up in 
the boat and began waving the scarf at the end 
of the oar. He hallooed. As the course of the 
schooner was laid, she would run past them 
about half a mile away. " I don't believe she '11 
stop for us," said Jack ; " but maybe she will. 
Bear the tiller a little to the left. That 's as it 
should be. Now hold it steady and I '11 wave 
again." Even as he spoke the distant group 
of men on the schooner suddenly broke and dis- 
persed. The next moment Jack saw that they 
were hauling in the fore and main sails, and 
that she was coming about. " She 's going to 
stop, after all," he said. 

The schooner had gone a little past them 
before her sails swung over. Then she came 
down toward them, bow on. Jack laid down 
the oar, and, taking the tiller again, brought 
the yawl up into the wind, and lay waiting for 
the schooner to make her way down to them. 
She ran down to within thirty or forty yards, 
and then, coming up into the wind, lay rising 
and falling, swinging slowly back and forth with 
the regular heave of the ground-swell. She 
looked very near. There was a group of faces 
clustered forward, looking out at them across 
the restless water. Another little group of 
three men and a woman stood at the open 
gangway. A large, rough man, with a red face 
prickled over with a stubby beard, hailed them. 
He wore baggy breeches tied at the knees, and 
a greasy red waistcoat. " Boat ahoy ! " he 
called out. " What boat is that ? " 

Jack was standing up in the yawl. " We 've 
come up from North Carolina," he called back. 
" We 've just escaped from the pirates." 

" Is that Miss Eleanor Parker ? " called the 
other instantly. 

" Ay," said Jack. Then he added, " The 
young lady asked me to stop you and to ask 
you if you would take us up, say to Norfolk or 
to Yorktown." 

"Tell him papa will pay him if he will/' 
said she. 

l8 9 S.] 



" She says her father will pay you well if 
you '11 do so," called Jack. 

The three men at the gangway talked to- 
gether for a moment or two ; then the big, 
stout man, who was evidently the captain of the 
schooner, called out again : " Colonel Parker 's 
at Norfolk now, or leastwise he was there 
this morning when we left. You can reach 
there yourself to-night, if the wind holds at all." 

" Oh, don't let him go ! " said the young 
lady to Jack. " Tell him how eager I am to 
get back, and that papa will pay him." 

" The young lady says she wants to get back 
as soon as she can," called Jack. " She says 
if you take us up to Norfolk she '11 see that her 
father pays you." 

Again the group at the gangway spoke to- 
gether. Then the captain of the schooner called 
out : 

" Bring your boat over here." 

Jack seated himself, and set the oars into the 
rowlocks. He pulled the bow of the boat 
around with a few quick strokes, and then 
rowed toward the schooner. In a minute or 
so he was close alongside. The men and the 
woman were standing on the deck just above, 
looking down at him. The six or eight men 
of the crew were also standing at the rail, 
looking at them. Jack could see that the 
schooner carried as a cargo three or four hogs- 
heads of tobacco and a great load of lumber. 
" Did you bring the young lady off from the 
pirates all by yourself?" said the captain to 
Jack. "Why, you 're a mightily young fellow 
to do that, if you did do it." 

" I did n't bring her off my own self," said 
Jack; " there was one of the pirates that helped 
us to get away. But Blackbeard came up with 
us at Currituck Inlet, and before we could get 
away the man who helped us was shot. He 
died last night." 

"Well, then," said the captain, "it was Black- 
beard, after all, who carried off the young lady, 
was it ? 

" Now," he continued, " as for taking you 
back to Norfolk, I 've been talking to my mate 
and Mr. Jackson here. Well, I 'm willing to 
take ye both back up to Norfolk if the young 
lady '11 guarantee that her father '11 pay me ten 
pounds for doing it." 

"Ten pounds!" cried Jack. "Why, that is a 
deal of money, master, for such a little thing." 

"Well, 't is the best I '11 do. It may lose 
me three days or more, and I won't do it for 

"Oh, it does not matter," said the young 
lady to Jack, in a low voice. " I '11 promise him 
that papa will pay him ten pounds." 

Jack felt that the captain was taking advan- 
tage of her eagerness to return; but he also 
saw that she would not allow him to bargain. 
" She says her father will pay it, master," said 
he; "but 't is a great deal of money to make 
her promise." 

"'T is the best I '11 do," said the captain. 
"Well, then, if she 's satisfied, you may come 
aboard, and I '11 tow the yawl up arter us." 

"Yes, I 'm satisfied," cried the young lady; 
"and thankful enough." 

"Very well. Here, Kitchen," — to the mate, 
— "help her ladyship aboard." He spoke with 
a sudden accession of deference. 

The mate jumped down into the boat, — he 
was in his bare feet, — and he and Jack helped 
the young lady aboard. Jack followed imme- 

" Here, Molly," said the captain to the wo- 
man, who was his wife, "take her ladyship into 
my cabin, and make her comfortable." 

"The bunk ha'n't been made up yet," said 
the woman. 

"Well, then, make it up as quick as you 
can. Come into the cabin, and the steward 
will fetch you summat to eat. Fetch that bag 
aboard, Kitchen ; and see the boat 's made fast 

"Ay, ay, sir." 

Jack was standing looking around him like 
one in a dream. The crew and the man whom 
the captain called Mr. Jackson (whom Jack 
took to be a passenger) stood staring at them. 
The schooner was a common coaster. The 
decks were littered and dirty; the captain and 
the crew rough and ordinary. 

" This way, Mistress," said the captain's wife, 
and she led the way aft, and down into the 
cabin. It was close and disagreeable, and 
smelled musty and stuffy. Jack and the young 
lady sat down by the table. The woman went 
into an inner cabin beyond. She left the door 




open, and Jactc from where he sat could see 
her making up a tumbled bed in the berth. 
He could also see through the open door a 
sea-chest, some hanging clothes, a map, and a 
clock. The schooner was getting under way 
again. Jack could hear the patter of bare feet 
passing across the deck overhead ; the creak- 
ing of the yards; and then the ripple and 
gurgle of the water alongside. 

"When did you leave Bath Town?" said 
the captain, who had followed them down into 
the cabin. 

" On Wednesdav morning early," said Jack. 
Now that all was over, he was feeling very dull 
and heavily oppressed in the reaction of the 
excitement that had kept him keyed up to 
endure. His hands, from which the skin had 
been rubbed by rowing, had begun to throb 
and burn painfully. He had not noticed the 
smart before. He looked at them, picking at 
the loose skin. " Nobody cares how my hands 
hurt," he thought, " now Dred is gone." 

" Wednesday ! Why, 't is only Sunday now. 
D' ye mean that ye 've sailed all the way from 
Bath Town in five days in that yawl boat ? " 

"Is this Sunday?" said Jack. "Why, so 
't is." He had not thought of that before. 

" How long will it take to get to Norfolk ? " 
asked the young lady. 

" Why, we ought to get there some time 
to-night, if we have any wind at all," said the 

" The berth 's made up now, if your lady- 
ship 'd like to lie down," said the captain's wife, 
appearing at the door of the inner cabin. 

After the young lady had gone, the captain 
and the man named Jackson plied Jack with 
questions as to all that had happened. He 
answered dully and inertly ; he wished they 
would let him alone, and not tease him with 
questions. " I 'm tired," said he at last. " I 'd 
like to lie down for a while." 

" I suppose you be feeling kind of used up, 
be n't you ? " asked Jackson. 

Jack nodded his head. 

" Won't you have a bite to eat first ? " asked 
the captain. 

" I 'm not hungry," said Jack. " I want to 
rest, that 's all." 

" I 'm going to let you have the mate's 

cabin," said the captain. " You said I made 
ye pay too much for carrying ye back to 
Norfolk. 'Well, I 'm doing all I can to make 
ye comfortable. I give my cabin to her 
young ladyship, and I give the mate's cabin to 
you, and if you '11 only wait I '11 have a good 
hot supper cooked." 

The mate came in, still in his bare feet. He 
sat down without saying anything, and stared 
at Jack. 

" I 'm going to let him have your berth for 
to-night, Kitchen," said the captain. 

Chapter XLII. 


The breeze had been very light all night, so 
that it was nearly daylight when the schooner 
came to anchor off Norfolk. The captain had 
come out upon deck, and he and the mate, who 
had a lantern hanging over his arm, stood talk- 
ing together. 

" I do suppose you 'd better take the boat 
and go find his honor Colonel Parker. His 
schooner was lying over yonder, where them 
lights be, yesterday morning." The mate took 
off his knit cap and held it in his hand while 
he scratched his head. " Anyways," said the 
captain, "you '11 have to go and hunt him up." 

Colonel Parker's schooner was still at Nor- 
folk, but Colonel Parker himself was not aboard. 
He had been less well again, and, having been 
to the town to see the doctor, had stopped 
there overnight. The mate of the coaster told 
Lieutenant Maynard of the young lady's return, 
then he went on directly to the town. Mr. 
Maynard, as soon as he heard the news, or- 
dered one of the boats to be manned, and had 
himself rowed aboard the schooner on which 
the young lady was. 

Colonel Parker came off from the town in the 
coasting-schooner's boat. The first man he met 
when he stepped aboard was Lieutenant May- 
nard. " Why, Maynard, is that you ? " said 
Colonel Parker. Maynard had never seen him 
so overcome. He grasped the lieutenant's hand 
and wrung it and wrung it again. His fine, 
broad face twitched with the effort he made to 
suppress his emotions. " Where is she ? " said 

i8 9 5-: 



he, turning around almost blindly to Captain 
Dolls, who, with his mate, had been standing at 
a little distance, looking on. " This way, your 
honor," said the captain, with alacrity. 

He led the way across the deck to the great 
cabin. Lieutenant Maynard did not accom- 
pany Colonel Parker. " She 's in my cabin 
here, your honor," said the captain. " I let 
her have my own cabin, your honor; for 't was 
the best aboard. Her ladyship 's asleep yet. 
If your honor '11 sit down here, I '11 send my 
wife to wake her and to help her dress." 

" Never mind," said the Colonel. " Where is 
she ? — in here ? " He opened the door and went 
into the cabin. She was lying upon the berth, 
sleeping. She had only loosened her clothes 
when she lay down the night before. She was 
lying fully dressed. " Nelly ! " said Colonel 
Parker, leaning over her, — "Nelly!" She did 
not stir. The door stood a little ajar. Captain 
Dolls, in the great cabin beyond, stood look- 
ing in. Colonel Parker did not notice him. 
" Nelly ! " he said again, — " Nelly ! " and he 
laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

She stirred ; she raised her arm ; she drew 
the back of her hand across her eyes; she 
opened her eyes. They looked directly into 
his face. " What is it ? " said she, vacantly. 

Colonel Parker was crying. " 'T is I — 't is 
thy poor father, Nelly." The tears were trick- 
ling down his cheek, but he did not notice 
them. Suddenly she was wide awake. " Papa ! 
Oh, papa ! " she cried, and instantly her arms 
were about his neck, and she was in his arms. 

She cried and cried. Colonel Parker, still 
holding her with one arm, reached in his pocket 
and drew out his handkerchief and wiped his 
eyes and his cheeks. As he did so he caught 
sight of Captain Dolls looking in at them. 
The captain instantly moved away, and Colonel 
Parker closed the door. 

Presently his daughter looked up into his 
face, her own face wet with tears. " Mama," 
said she, — " how is poor mama ? " 

"She is well — she is very well," said he. 
" My dear ! — my dear ! " 

Once more she flung her arms about his 
neck. She pressed her lips to his again and 
again. She was still crying. " Oh, Papa, if 
you only knew what I 've been through ! " 

" I know — I know," said he. 

" Oh, but you can't know all that I 've been 
through — all the dreadful, the terrible things. 
They shot poor Dred, and he died. And I saw 
them shoot him — I was in the boat — I saw 
him die. Oh, papa, I can't tell you all! Oh, 
it was so terrible! He lay on the sand and 
died. There was sand on the side of his face, 
and the young man, Jack, did not see it to brush 
it off, and I could not do it, and there it was." 

" There ! there ! " said Colonel Parker, sooth- 
ingly. " Don't talk about it, my dear. Tell me 
about other things. The sailor who came to 
bring me off told me there was a young lad 
with you when they picked you up down at the 
capes. Is he the young man you call Jack ? " 

"Yes; that is he." 

" He is aboard here now, is he not ? " 

They talked together for a long time. She 
had lain down again. She held his hand. He 
sat upon the edge of the berth beside her. As 
they talked she stroked the back of his hand, 
and once she raised it to her lips and kissed it. 

" 'T was mightily kind of the good man, the 
captain of this vessel, to bring thee all the way 
back from the capes, Nell," said Colonel Par- 
ker; " 't was mightily kind." 

" Oh, yes," said she ; " I clean forgot to tell 
you. He did not want to bring us back at 
first, but said he would if I promised that you 
would pay him ten pounds." 

" What! " exclaimed Colonel Parker. " Did 
he make you promise ten pounds before he 
would bring you back from the capes ? " 

"Yes," said she. "Did I, then, do wrong? 
But oh, papa ! I wanted so much to get back, 
and I was so tired of being in the little boat, 
and it was so dreadful ! 'T was there that poor 
Dred was shot, and there were marks of blood 
near where he sat." 

" But what a rascal ! " said Colonel Parker. 
" Why, five pounds would have been twice as 
much as it were worth. 'T was a rogue to 
make thee promise that." 

" Oh, Papa," said she, " is it not, then, worth 
ten pounds to have me back again ? " 

He looked fondly at her. " My dear — my 
dear," said he, " 't were worth a million — yes, 
ten million! But, nevertheless, 't was a rogue," 
he added, " to trade upon thy needs." 

Vol. XXII.— 72. 

[To be continued.) 


By Ensign John M. Ellicott. 


A railroad-train cannot turn to the right 
or left at will, for it is bound by the iron tracks 
to go the way they lead, and the trains coming 
toward it are guided in another set of tracks to 
pass safely by. Therefore the engineer may 
rush his train along over the guiding tracks, 
through the brightness of day or the dark- 
ness of night, with no fear save for the most 
unforeseen and infrequent accidents. On the 
sea, however, a ship can go whichever way 
she is turned, and other ships may meet her 
coming from any direction. The broad ocean, 
then, may be looked upon as covered with an 
enormous network of tracks crossing one an- 
other in all directions, where a ship may be 

switched from one track to another at will. In 
the daytime ships can be seen from each other, 
and be turned aside to pass in safety ; for not 
only can they be seen, but the direction in 
which they are going is known. Still, even 
in the daytime certain rules must be followed 
to insure perfect safety. How, then, do ships, 
pursuing so many intersecting tracks, pass the 
others safely in spite of the darkness of the 
night ? 

Imagine yourself on the bridge of a big ship. 
It is really a bridge, you know, high above the 
deck, extending from side to side near the bow, 
and projecting a little beyond the sides so that 
from each end a man can see straight ahead 



without rigging or masts to interfere. It is 
night, and very dark. Even the ship is only a 
long dark shadow under your feet. Over the 
sky may be a pall of cloud, and you peer away 
into the darkness, but cannot even tell where 
sea and sky come together. All is inky black- 
ness above and below. Spreading outward 
from the bow of the ship is a foaming, phos- 
phorescent wave, which tells how rapidly she is 
rushing onward over the unseen waters and into 
the dangers of the impenetrable gloom. In 
the middle of the bridge stands a man holding 
a wheel and gazing at a compass lit up by a 
little lamp. With that wheel he turns the rud- 
der to keep the ship steadily pointed in the 
same direction by the compass. That direction 
is her track. Other ships may be on that 
track ; other ships may be crossing that track 
in the darkness. How are they to be avoided ? 

On each side of the bridge stands a man 
peering continually into the gloom ahead, 
while back and forth, almost incessantly, paces 
a fourth man, an officer, who, like the others, 
is continually gazing ahead or glancing at the 
compass. He is the officer of the deck. On 
him rests the responsibility of avoiding all other 
vessels which may cross his vessel's track or be 
approaching her upon it. Upon his quickness 
and judgment depends the safety of the ship. 
In the daytime he has seen one, two, or per- 
haps a dozen ships around him during a single 
hour, and he well knows that just as many may 
be around him during any hour of the night. 
How, then, is he to know where they are, and 
how to keep out of their way ? 

Their lights will tell. 

When you face toward the ship's bow the 
side at your right hand is called the starboard 
side, and the side at your left hand is called 
the port side. On her starboard side a ship 
carries at night a green light, and it is so shut 
in by two sides of a box that it cannot be seen 
from the port side or from behind. On her 
port side she carries a red light, and it is so 
shut in that it cannot be seen from the star- 
board side or from behind. If the ship is a 
steamship she carries a big white light at her 
foremast-head, but if she is a sailing vessel she 
does not. This white masthead light can be 
seen from all around except from behind. 

So long, then, as the officer of the deck sees 
no lights, he feels sure that there are no ves- 
sels near him, and paces his watch in security ; 
but presently there flashes out of the gloom 
ahead a small bright speck ; then it is gone ; 
then it shows again ; and one of the lookouts 
who has craned his neck forward in the in- 
tensity of his gaze cries out : 

" Light ho ! " 

In an instant the officer of the deck is by his 
side, glasses in hand, inquiring : 

" Where away ? " 

Then he, too, sees it, and by it is informed 
of another vessel's presence near him on the 
dark ocean. Then comes an anxious time 
when with strong glasses he strives to tell the 
color of that faint light ; for he is as yet in- 


formed only of the other vessel's whereabouts at 
the moment, and knows not which way she is 
going, nor what manner of vessel she may be. 
This last is what the light next reveals, for if it 
be white it is the masthead light of a steamer ; 
but if it be red or green, the absence of a white 



light reveals a sailing vessel. It is for the red 
and green lights, commonly known as the side 
lights, that the officer of the deck most intently 
watches, for by them he can tell which way 
the vessel is going. If her red light shows, he 
knows that her port side is toward him and she 
is crossing to his left; if it is her green light, 
her starboard side is toward him and she is 
crossing to his right ; but if both the red and 
green are showing, she is heading straight in his 
direction. Thus he learns by these running 
lights where the other vessel is, what she is, and 
in what direction she is going; and he knows 
in plenty of time whether she is on his track, 
or whether she is crossing it in one direction or 
the other. All that is not enough, however, to 
avoid collision ; for both he and the officer on 
the other vessel must know exactly what to do, 
and what the other is going to do. He must 
know, so to speak, on just what track to switch, 
and on just what track the other vessel will 
switch to avoid him. This is settled by fixed 
rules, which are the same the world over, and 
are known to all men who follow the sea. 
They are called the " Rules of the Road." 

The rules of the road say that when two ves- 
sels are coming bows on, — that is to say, on the 
same track, — each vessel shall turn off to the 
right far enough to avoid the other ; that when 
two vessels are crossing, — that is, when their 
tracks would cross each other, — the one which 
has the other on her starboard (right) hand 
must turn to starboard (the right), and go be- 
hind the other vessel, while the latter keeps on 
her track or course ; and that a steam-vessel 
must always get out of the way of a sailing ves- 
sel, a vessel at anchor or disabled, or a vessel 
with another in tow. 

Thus the lights tell, in the darkest night, 
which way the ships are going, and what kind 
of ships they are ; while the rules of the road 
tell, both for night and day, in which direc- 
tion the ships must turn to keep out of each 
other's way. If a vessel has another vessel in 
tow, she carries two masthead lights instead of 
one; and when a vessel is at anchor she has 
no side lights or masthead light, but a single 
white light made fast to a stay where it can be 
seen from all around her. 

In rivers and crowded harbors it is often im- 

possible to follow the rules of the road; and 
sometimes even at sea the officer of the deck 
of one vessel discovers that the other is not 
heeding the rules. Then the steam-whistle is 
used to tell the other vessel what the first is 
doing. Thus, one whistle means " I am going 
to the right"; two whistles mean "I am going 
to the left"; and three whistles mean "I am 
backing"; while a series of short toots means 
" Look out for yourself; get out of the way ! " 

There is one. class of vessels which is most 
annoying to those who direct the course of 
large steamers. These are small fishing-ves- 
sels. On the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, 
on the coast of Spain, and on the coasts of 
China and Japan big fleets of these little vessels 
are found at all times. They show no lights 
at night, preferring to save the expense of oil, 
and take their chances of being sent to the 
bottom ; but when they see a big ship rushing 
down upon them, they light a torch and flare it 
about. Often they pay for their folly with their 
lives. The torch is seen too late, or not seen at 
all, and the great iron bow of the steamship 
crushes into the frail little craft, perhaps cut- 
ting her clean in two ; and the unhappy fisher- 
men sink into the foaming wake of the churning 
propellers, leaving not a soul to tell their wives 
at home what became of them. 

Much more can be told at sea by lights at 
night ; for they can be used by ships to signal 
to each other. Rockets are carried to be fired 
in case of distress, and when seen at sea they 
always mean that the ship or boat from which 
they are fired is in great need of help. The 
red, white, and blue lights which you burn in 
the evening of the Fourth of July are also 
made up into combinations to form a signal 
code, and are called Coston Signals, after the 
man who devised them. Since electric lights 
have come to be used on shipboard, a Spanish 
naval officer, Lieutenant Ardois, has invented a 
system of signals consisting of a string of lamps 
several feet apart on an electric cable stretch- 
ing from the masthead to the ship's rail. Each 
lamp is double, one part being red and one 
white, and either the red or the white can be 
turned on independently. Then in a conve- 
nient place he sets up a circular disk electrically 
connected with the lights, on which white and 





red spots representing different combinations 
of these lights are grouped together, and each 
group represents a letter of the alphabet, a 
point of the compass, a number, or a word. A 
switch on the disk can be used to turn on dif- 



ferent groups in succession until a signal is 
complete. So far this Ardois System has been 
used only on men-of-war, and it cannot be 
read more than four miles away, because at a 
greater distance the lights blend together. The 
best night signal-lights are those invented by 

Lieutenant Very, of our navy, and named, after 
him, Very's Signals. They consist of a white, 
a red, and a green star, each fired into the air 
from a pistol, so that by firing one, two, or 
three of them in quick succession and in differ- 
ent orders, with a pause between the groups, 
different letters or signal numbers can be made 
until a sentence is complete. They can be 
easily read from vessels twelve miles away. 

On our men-of-war lights are used at night 
in port to tell when the captain, or an officer of 
still higher rank, is out of the ship. When the 
captain is absent, one white light is displayed 
at the end of the spanker-gaff. The spanker is 
the sail at the stern of the ship, and the span- 
ker-gaff is the spar from which the sail hangs. 
Its end is called the peak, and a light hoisted 
there is called a peak light. When a rear-ad- 
miral is absent from his flag-ship, three peak 
lights are hoisted. If he were a vice-admiral 
there would be four lights; and if he were a full 
admiral there would be five. If the Secretary 
of the Navy were sojourning on board of a war 
vessel and were temporarily absent, six lights 
would be hoisted ; and for the President of the 
United States there would be seven. These 
lights are hoisted in a string one under the other, 
and are hauled down as soon as the official 
whose absence they indicate returns on board. 
The hoisting of the lights, you see, means " not 
at home," and saves many fruitless official visits 
and wasted social calls. During the daytime 
the going and coming of captains and flag-offi- 
cers is seen and reported to all captains and 
flag-officers of other ships, but after dark the 
lights must tell. 

In nearly every navy in the world it is the 
custom for a man-of-war, when leaving port at 
night, to hoist two peak lights to indicate her 
character as a public vessel ; and all other men- 
of-war present do the same as an acknowledg- 
ment that they are aware of her departure. 
As soon as the departing vessel is out of the 
harbor, the lights are extinguished on her and 
on the vessels left behind. 

On land the iron tracks lead a train safely 
across mountains and past deep ravines which 
would utterly destroy it should it swerve from 
the tracks to one side or the other; but at sea 
myriads of the countless tracks would, if fol- 

i8 95 ] 



lowed, lead a ship to destruction upon rocks or 
shoals, or the very land itself. How is a ship 
to avoid taking one of these treacherous tracks 
in the darkness of the night ? 

Again, the lights tell. 

Along all coasts where civilized nations dwell 
or trade — and these now include nearly all the 
coasts of the world — there are placed light- 
houses — which are usually tall towers with pow- 
erful lights on top — at such frequent intervals 
that one is seldom lost to sight before another 
is seen farther on. The better lights are so 
powerful that they can be seen twenty miles 
or more out at sea. On shoals, too, where 
lighthouses cannot be built, ships are anchored 
to stay there all the time, with big lights at 
their mastheads at night. All these lighthouses 
and light-ships are marked down on the charts; 
each has a name, and books are published and 
carried by ships at sea containing full descrip- 
tions of each light. These lights differ one from 
another, so that along any particular stretch of 
coast one can tell which light he sees by watch- 
ing its color and behavior, and looking on the 
chart or in the light-book until he finds it. 
Thus, some lights are white, some red, and 
some are green. Some, again, flash red and 
white alternately. Others flash out and then 
for a short interval of time disappear; and this 
interval is a regular one, and is written down 
in seconds or minutes on the chart and in the 
book, so that a navigator can time it by his 
watch, and thus tell which light is flashing. 
Other lights are arranged to swing a bright 
beam back and forth across the sky so that the 
beam is often seen long before the light itself. 

Suppose, then, you are sailing or steaming 
along in sight of land. In the broad daylight 
the coast is plainly seen, and it is easy to fol- 
low a track which will take you safely past the 
shoals and headlands. By the capes and moun- 
tains and villages which you watch coming into 
sight, one after another, and then pick out on 
the chart, you can tell at all times just where 
you are, and keep steaming or sailing on in 
perfect security; but presently comes the twi- 
light, and all these things fade out into nothing 
but a dark, irregular line against the sky, which 
grows fainter and fainter until it is swallowed 
up in the darkness of the night. How helpless 

you would be, then, with the wind and the 
unseen currents pushing you off your track, if 
you could not see anything to guide you; but 
out of the darkness there flashes up a big, 
bright light — perhaps two or three of them — 
in the direction of the unseen land. You watch 
the lights, you note their color, you time the 
intervals between their flashes. You go to the 
compass and note the direction or bearing of 
the lights from your ship, and finally you go to 
your chart and pick out those lights, mark with 
a pencil their lines of bearing, and where the 
lines come together, there you are. Thus you 
can pick out light after light as it comes in 
sight, and, marking your place on the chart as 
often as you please, fearlessly guide your ship 
on through the darkness until the light of 
another day again shows you the land. 

But woe to you if you mistake one of those 
lights for another, and do not quickly find out 
your mistake ! Almost certainly you will run 
into dangerous places. Not long ago a splen- 
did brand-new ship started on her first trip 
from England, laden with valuable freight, and 
bound through the Mediterranean Sea. She 
steamed across the Bay of Biscay in safety, and 
then followed the coast of Spain. During a 
dark night her captain picked out a light which 
he mistook for the one on Tarifa Point — the 
point around which vessels turn to go through 
the Straits of Gibraltar. So he turned his 
ship to the east, and steamed confidently on- 
ward. Alas! it was not Tarifa Point, but 
Cape Trafalgar, many miles to the northward. 
Straight on to the coast of Spain that poor ship 
rushed until she struck, driving high upon the 
rocks and sand, and stopping only when she 
lay crushed among the breakers, a total wreck ! 

The captain's mistake was no doubt due to 
the tendency of white lights to look reddish in 
thick or hazy weather; for Tarifa light is red 
and Cape Trafalgar's white, each with a flash 
lasting about five seconds. Almost the same 
mistake was made by the officers of one of our 
naval vessels a few years ago. The United 
States steamship " Despatch" left New York for 
Washington, one stormy autumn afternoon. All 
through the night she was in sight of the lights 
on the New Jersey coast, but toward morning 
the weather grew thick with spray and drizzling 




rain. Then a white light was mistaken for a 
red one, the ship's course was changed a little 
toward the coast, and she was soon pounding 
upon the sandy beach, never to float again. 

The placing of electric lights in ships has 
given them another means of discovering and 
avoiding dangers in the night. This is by the 
use of search-lights. When these great lights 
blaze out and drive their straight white beams 
through the darkness, it is as if the ship herself 
had eyes with which to look and see where she 

is going. Thus, in the darkest night a ship 
may enter even a poorly lighted harbor, rolling 
these great eyes from side to side to pick out 
buoy after buoy, and point after point, until the 
anchorage is safely reached. Darkness, then, 
has no terrors for the careful navigator; for he 
can guide his ship safely past other ships at sea, 
safely along the unseen coasts, and safely into 
the calm waters of a sheltering harbor, by what 
the lights tell. But thick fogs are more to be 
dreaded, for they hide the helpful lights. 


By James Baldwin. 


Helios, as you know, was the most famous never done anything else ; and the oldest in- 

charioteer that the world has ever seen. Just habitant had no recollection of the time when 

how long he had been driving the chariot of the he began. He never missed a day — not even 

Sun nobody could tell ; but it must have been Sunday ; and on holidays he was always up 

many, many years. People said that he had and at it early, cracking his whip cheerily to 




awaken the children. He was sometimes a 
little late in getting a start on cold winter morn- 
ings, but whenever he did so he was sure to 
make up for lost time, and finish the journey 
just that much earlier in the afternoon. He 
seemed to dislike the cold very much, but that 
may have been because he was so old. Start- 
ing from the home of the Dawn in the far, far 
East, he made a daily trip to the verge of Old 
Ocean's stream in the distant West. How it was 
that he always got back to his starting-point 
before the next morning was somewhat of a 
mystery. Nobody had ever seen him making 
his return trip, and hence all that men knew 
about it was guesswork. It matters very little 
to us, however ; for that question has nothing to 
do with the story which I am going to tell. 

The old charioteer always slept soundly in 
the morning, and seldom awoke until he heard 
his young sister, the maiden whom men call 
Aurora, rapping at the door of his bedroom, 
and making her voice echo through the halls 
of the Dawn. 

" Up, up, brother Helios ! " she would cry. 
" It is time for you to begin your journey again. 
Up, and delight the world once more with your 
shining morning face and your life-giving 
presence ! " 

Then Helios would hasten to the meadows 
where, through the night, his steeds had been 
feeding, and would call them each by name : 

" Come hither, beautiful creatures ! Hasten, 
for Aurora calleth. Eos, thou glowing one ! 
^Ethon, thou of the burning mane ! Bronte, 
thou thunderer ! Sterope, thou swifter than 
lightning ! Come quickly ! " 

The wing-footed steeds would obey. The 
servants would harness them to the golden car, 
and Aurora and the Morning Star would deck 
their manes with flowers and with wreaths of 
asphodel. Then Helios would step into the car 
and hold the long, yellow reins in his hands. 
A word from him, and the proud team would 
leap into the sky ; then they would soar above 
the mountain-tops and mingle with the clouds, 
and grandly career in mid-air. And Helios, 
holding the reins steadily, would gently restrain 
them, or if they lagged would urge them for- 
ward with persuasive words. It was the grand- 
est sight that men ever saw, and yet they never 
Vol. XXII.— 73. 

seemed to think much about it — perhaps be- 
cause it was seen so often. If Helios had 
failed for a single day, what a wonderful hub- 
bub and fright there would have been ! 

The wife of Helios was a fair young lady 
named Clymene, who lived not far from the 
great sea, and who, according to some, was a 
nymph, but according to others a fisherman's 
daughter; and they had an only son named 
Phaethon. This son Helios loved above all 
things else on earth ; and he gave him many 
rich and noble gifts, and counseled him to be 
brave and wise, and especially to be contented 
with his lot in life. And Phaethon grew to 
be a tall and comely lad, fond of his looking- 
glass, soft-handed, and proud of his ancestry. 
Some of his companions, who were only com- 
mon mortals, liked to flatter him because of 
his supposed wealth, while there were many 
others who despised him because he affected 
to look up to the Sun. 

" See the upstart who calls himself the son of 
Helios," sneered one. 

"Ah, but he will have a sorry fall some of 
these days," said another. 

" You are a pretty fellow to claim kinship 
with the charioteer of the Sun," said a worthless 
loafer named Epaphos, one day. " With your 
white face, and your yellow curls, and your 
slender hands, you are better fitted to help your 
mother at the spinning-wheel than to be a 
leader of men." 

" But," said the boy, " my father Helios, who 
drives the burning chariot, and who — " 

" Don't talk to me," interrupted the unman- 
nerly fellow — " don't talk to me about your 
father, the chariot-driver. Why, you would be 
frightened to death to drive your sister's goat- 
cart over the lawn, and you would shriek at 
the sight of a real horse. How dare you 
claim descent from the charioteer of the skies ? 
Nonsense ! " 

" A pretty son of Helios, indeed ! " laughed 
the other rowdies who were with Epaphos; 
and some young girls that were passing tossed 
their heads and smiled. 

" I will show you ! " cried Phaethon, angrily. 
" I will do what none of you dare do : I will 
ride the wild horses of the plain ; I will har- 
ness them to the king's war-chariot, and drive 




them in the great circus ! I will prove to you 
that I am worthy to be called the son of 
Helios ! " 

"Perhaps you will take his place as driver 
of the sun-chariot ? A day's rest now and then 
would do the old man great good," sneered 

Phaethon hesitated. " My father," said he, 
"is one of the immortals, and I am earth-born. 
And yet — and yet — " 

" And yet," shouted his tormentors, " until 
you have driven the sun-chariot through the 
skies, nobody will believe that you are the son 
of Helios!" 

And they went on their way laughing. 

" You may sneer, and you may laugh," said 
Phaethon, " but the time will come when you 
will honor me, both for what I am and for what 
I can do." 

After that there were many who made sport 
of the boy's pride. They did this not because 
they bore any ill will toward him, but because 
they found a sort of pleasure in twitting one 
who had set himself up as better than them- 
selves. One by one the young men who had 
hitherto been his comrades drew themselves 
away from his companionship ; and his girl 
friends, although they still admired his good 
looks and pleasant manners, treated him with a 
coldness which every day became more marked. 
When he passed along the street the small boys 
would hoot at him and call out, " Charioteer ! " 
and derisively ask if his father knew he was out. 
Even the old men who had known him all his 
life advised him to buy a spade and go to work 
in his mother's garden, and stop gazing into 
the sky. 

But Phaethon took little notice of these 
taunts. Steadily, and with a determined pur- 
pose, he set about making himself ready for 
the great undertaking of his life. He exercised 
himself daily in feats of strength ; he practised 
running and leaping and throwing weights, un- 
til his muscles were hardened and made as elas- 
tic as Apollo's bow. Then he took lessons in 
horsemanship from the greatest riding-masters 
in the world. He spent months on the grassy 
steppes of the Caspian, where he learned to 
lasso wild horses, and, leaping astride of them, 
to ride them bare-backed and bridleless until 

they were subdued to his will. He entered the 
chariot races at Corinth, and with a team of 
four outdrove the most famous charioteers of 
Greece; and at the great Olympic games he 
won the victor's crown. No other young man 
was talked about as much as he. 

" A bright young fellow with a brilliant fu- 
ture before him," said some. 

" A fine example of what hard work and a 
little genius can do," said others. 

" A lucky chap," said still others, — " a mere 
creature of circumstances. Any of us could do 
as well, if as many favorable accidents would 
happen to us to help us along." 

" A vain upstart," said those whom he had 
beaten in the race — "a fop with a girl's face, 
and more hair than brains, whom the gods have 
seen fit to favor for a day." 

" He claims to be of better blood than the 
rest of us," said the followers of Epaphos; 
" yet everybody knows that he was born in a 
miserable village a long way from Athens, 
and that his mother is the daughter of a fish- 

But the young girls whispered among them- 
selves : " How handsome he is, and how deftly 
he managed the reins ! What if he be indeed 
the son of Helios ! Would n't it be grand to 
see him sitting in his father's chariot, and guid- 
ing the sun-steeds along their lofty road ? " 
And they said to him, " Phaethon, if you will 
drive your father's fiery team for only one little 
day, we will believe in you." 

At length Phaethon made a long journey to 
the golden palace of the Dawn in the far distant 
East. Helios, with his steeds, had just returned 
from the labors of the day, and he was over- 
joyed to see his earth-born son. He threw his 
arms about him, and kissed him many times, 
and called him by many endearing names. 

" And now tell me," he said, " what brings 
you here, and at this quiet hour of the night, 
when all men are asleep. Have you come 
to seek some favor? If so, do not be afraid to 
tell me; for you know that I will do anything 
for you — that I will give you anything that 
you ask." 

" There is something," said Phaethon, " that 
I long for more than anything else in the world ; 
and I have come to ask you to give it to me." 

i8 9 5.J 



" What is it, my child ? " asked Helios, ea- 
gerly. " Only speak, and it shall be yours." 

" Father, will you promise to do for me that 
which I shall ask ? " 

Then Helios lifted up his hands, and vowed 
by the river Styx which flows through the un- 
der-world, that he would surely grant to his son 
Phaethon whatsoever he desired. And this he 
did, knowing full well the terrible punishment 
that would be his in case he should not observe 
that vow. Nine years he would have to lie on 
the ground as though he were dead, and nine 
other years he would be shut out from the com- 
pany of his friends; his sun-car would be broken 
in pieces, and his fleet horses lost forever, and 
the whole world doomed to everlasting night. 

The young man was glad when his father 
had made this vow. He spoke quickly, and 
said : " This, then, O Father, is the boon which 
I have come to ask, and which you have prom- 
ised to give : It is that I may take your place 
to-morrow, and drive your chariot through the 
flaming pathway of the sky." 

Helios sank back terrified at the request, and 
for a time could not speak. 

" My child," he said at last, " you surely do 
not mean it. No man living can ever drive 
my steeds ; and although you have kinship 
with the immortals, you are only human. 
Choose, I pray you, some other favor." 

Phaethon wept, and answered: " Father, there 
are some people who do not believe that I am 
better than mere common men, and they scorn 
me to my face. But if they could once see me 
driving the sun-car through mid-air, they and 
all the world would honor me. And I can 
drive your steeds ; for have I not mastered the 
wildest horses of the desert, and have I not 
driven the winning chariot in the Corinthian 
races ? By long years of patient training I 
have fitted myself for this task." 

Through all the rest of the night Helios 
pleaded with the young man, but in vain : 
Phaethon would not listen to any refusal. 
" This favor I will have, or none," said he. 
" I will drive the sun-car through the heavens 
to-morrow, and all men shall know that I am 
the son and heir of Helios." 

At length Aurora, in her yellow morning 
robes, knocked at the door, and Helios knew 

that no more time could be spent in vain 

" Ah, my son ! " he said, " you know not 
what you have asked. Yet, since I have made 
the vow I will not refuse you. May the im- 
mortals have you in their keeping, and ward all 
danger from you ! " 

Then the four horses were led out and har- 
nessed to the car, and Helios sadly gave the 
reins into Phaethon's hands. 

" Thy folly will doubtless bring with it its 
own punishment, my son ! " he said; and, hiding 
his face in his long cloak, he wept. 

But the young man leaped quickly into the 
car, and cried out, as his father had been wont 
to cry : "On, Eos! On JEthon, Bronte, Sterope ! 
On, ye children of the morning ! Awaken the 
world with your brightness, and carry beauty 
and gladness into every corner of the earth. 
Sterope, Bronte, ALthon, Eos, on with you ! " 

Up sprang the steeds, swift as the thunder- 
clouds that rise from the sea. Quickly they 
vaulted upward to the blue dome of heaven. 
Madly they careered above the mountain-tops, 
turning hither and thither in their course, and 
spurning the control of their driver; for well 
they knew that it was not their old master who 
stood in the chariot behind them. Then the 
proud heart of Phaethon began to fail within 
him. He quaked with fear, and the yellow 
reins dropped from his hands. 

" O my father ! " he cried, " how I wish that 
I had heeded your warning ! " 

And the fiery steeds leaped upward and 
soared in the heavens until they reached a 
point higher than any eagle had ever attained ; 
then, as suddenly, they plunged downward, 
dragging the burning car behind them ; then, 
for a long time, they skimmed close to the tree- 
tops, and dangerously near to the dwellings of 
men. From the valley of the Nile westward, 
across the continent of Africa, they passed in 
their umanageable flight, and the region that 
had once been so green and fertile was scorched 
into a barren desert. The rivers were dried up, 
and the fishes in them died. The growing 
grain, the grass, the herbs, the trees — all were 
withered by the intense heat. The mountains 
smoked, the earth quaked, and the sky was 
lurid with flame. The fair people who dwelt 

5 8o 


in that ill-fated land hastened to hide them- 
selves in caves and among the rocks, where 
many of them perished miserably from thirst 
and the unbearable heat ; and those who sur- 
vived and came forth again into the light of 
day were so scorched and blackened that their 
skins were of the hue of night, and no washing 
could ever make them white again. Then all 
living creatures, great and small, cried out in 
their terror, and besought the ever-living pow- 
ers to save them from destruction. And Mo- 
ther Grea, queen of earth, heard them; and, 
pitying them, she prayed to great Zeus, ruler 
of gods and men, that he would do something 
to stop the mad course of the driverless steeds 
ere the whole world should be wrapped in 
flames. Zeus, from his palace on high, heard 
her prayer, and hurled his thunderbolts upon 
the head of the hapless Phaethon. The youth, 
stricken and helpless, fell headlong from the 
car; and the team of Helios, frightened into 
obedience, soared aloft to their accustomed 
pathway, and, though driverless, pursued their 
journey to the shore of the western ocean. 
Helios was there awaiting their coming, and 
when he saw that Phaethon was not in the 
car deep sorrow filled his heart ; he covered 
his face with his cloak, and it was long ere he 
removed it, and his smiles were seen again as 
of yore. 

As for Phaethon, he fell into the great river 
Po, and messengers hastened to carry the news 
of his death into the country of his birth. 
When those who had taunted him and goaded 
him on to his fate heard what had happened, 
they began at once to bewail his sad death, 
and to laud his courage and skill. 

" Alas," cried they, " a great hero, a true son 
of Helios, is lost to the world ! What a pity 
that he did not hearken to our advice, and stay 
here among his mother's kindred! Had he 
done so, we would have honored him as one 

having kinship with the great, and he might 
have lived to see a happy old age." 

" How handsome he was!" said the maidens 
who had formerly turned their faces from him, 
" and how skilful and brave ! In all the world 
we shall never see his like again." 

And the daughters of the West built him a 
noble tomb of marble near the shore of the 
great sea, and they caused an inscription to be 
engraved upon it, which said that although 
he had failed in what he had undertaken, 
yet he was worthy of honor, because he had 
set his mind on high things. And Phaethon's 
own sisters wandered broken-hearted up and 
down the banks of the Po, until they were 
changed into the tall and stately poplars of 
Lombardy, and the tears which they had shed, 
falling into the water, were hardened into beads 
of precious yellow amber. 

The old charioteer Helios, though smitten 
with grief, returned at once to his duty. And 
for many, many years thereafter he continued 
to drive his sun-car upon their course; but it 
was observed that he had lost somewhat of his 
former vigor, and that his four flaming steeds no 
longer pranced through the skies with the joyous- 
ness of earlier times. At length, when mighty 
Zeus had fallen from his lofty place, and great 
Pan was dead, and Mother Gasa was no more 
than the great round earth, the Man of Facts 
appeared, with his spectacles, and his measuring 
tape, and his little memorandum book. 

" Father Helios," he said, "your sun-car seems 
to be rather an antiquated affair for this progres- 
sive age of ours, and you yourself are rather be- 
hind the times. We believe the earth can spin 
around on its axis without needing to have the 
sun eternally trundled about in a chariot. We '11 
find room for your old rattle-trap in the back 
yard, and let it stay there among the rubbish of 
bygone ages. And the horses, Eos, JEihon, 
Bronte, and Sterope, we will turn out to grass." 

V. AND W. 

By Charles L. Benjamin. 

" Excuse me if I trouble you," 
Said V to jolly W, 

" But will you have the kindness to explain 
one thing to me ? 
Why, looking as you do, 
Folks should call you double U, 
When they really ought to call you double V? " 

Said W to curious V: 
" The reason 's plain as plain can be 
(Although I must admit it 's understood by 

very few) ; 
As you say, I 'm double V; 
And therefore, don't you see, 
The people say that I am double you." 

5 8l 


By Elbridge S. Brooks. 

{Begun in the November number. ] 

Chapter XIII. 


The great Room of the Marshals had al- 
most emptied itself of guests as the Emperor 
had scored the ambassador. When big nations 
quarrel, little states stand from under. After 
such a bout as was this, when France taunted 
Russia, none knew upon whom the imperial 
bolt might fall next; and both Yassals and 
allies had business elsewhere. 

Men whispered to one another : " It means 
war. Thus did the Emperor break out against 
Whitworth, the Englishman, before the war that 
ended in the subjugation of Germany; thus did 
he score Metternich, the Austrian, before the 
campaign that ended in victory at Wagram. 
It is peace no longer." 

But Philip thought not of the quarrels of 
states, as he stood before the Emperor. He 
knew he had been indiscreet. He expected 
what English boys call a " wigging," and what 
American boys know as a " hauling over the 

" So, young Desnouettes," the Emperor broke 
out, " you forget yourself in the presence of my 
guests ; is it not so ? You dare to bandy words 
with the representative of a nation, do you ? 
Feather-head ! Can I, then, not trust my pages 
to learn manners ? " 

" Sire, the Russian angered me, and — I for- 
got myself," the boy confessed. 

" And does that make matters right ? " cried 
Napoleon. " Courtesy should never forget it- 

Then Philip looked squarely into the im- 
perial eye. " Sire," he said, " I did but follow 
my Emperor." 

At this bold declaration every listener looked 
aghast. Courtiers knew not whether to smile 

or to frown. Pages held their breath. Only 
Victor, the irrepressible, whispered, "My faith! 
there goes boy Philip's head." 

But one never knew how to take that curious 
compound of severity and sentiment — Napo- 
leon the Emperor. At Philip's words a gleam 
of anger filled his eye ; then, suddenly and 
strangely, it changed to a twinkle. He tweaked 
the page's ear — that ear still smarting from the 
Russian cuff. 

" Monkey ! " he said. " One might say the 
Emperor did but follow the page. What caused 
it all ? " 

" I said, Sire," Philip replied, " that Catch- 
a — that Monsieur de Czernicheff was a spy." 

" My faith, boy, you spoke the truth. I 
tell you, gentlemen, the lad spoke but the 
truth," Napoleon cried, turning to his courtiers, 
who now saw that it was policy to smile, and 
to cultivate this plucky young page. " That 
silken Cossack was a spy, and none of you 
dared tell him so. But you did wrong, you 
page, to meddle thus with what is not your 
concern. You are too honest, I fear, to suc- 
ceed at court. You will be forever in the 
water that is hot. We must use you else- 
where. Report in the morning at my study. 
I will devise some return for your over-zeal. 

And Philip went. 

In the Blue Room he ran against Citizen 

" What is this I hear, my son," that good 
man said, drawing the page into a deserted 
corner. " You have been baiting the Russian 
bear, have you ? Tell me of it." 

Philip told his story. 

" So ! see what hot fires we kindle at the 
court," Citizen Daunou said. " A bad air, a 
bad air, I fear. When boys bluster, old men 
hold their peace. And what is to come of it 
all ? " 



" That I do not know, Citizen," the page re- 
plied. " The Emperor is to render judgment 
in the morning." 

" And our Philip will be a victim or a mar- 
shal before another sunset," Citizen Daunou 
declared. " Well, if the one, you have a friend 
in me, my boy; if the other — pray let me 
have a friend in you, Monsieur the Marshal ! 
One never can count on the Emperor. He is 
full of surprises. But, Philip, this means war. 
We must face the bear at bay ; and what 
France needs is peace." 

"But the glory of it, Citizen Daunou! There 
is no glory in peace," cried warlike Philip. 

" My son," said the old republican solemnly, 
"peace hath the greater victories — nay, peace 
is the greatest of all victories. He who holds 
back the sword when it is in his power to strike 
is the hero, the victor, the conqueror, whom 
time will applaud, and posterity praise. Re- 
member this. Oh, that the Emperor might feel 
it ! Oh, that France might make test of it ! 
But the blood-madness is upon us, and the Em- 
pire is doomed." 

Philip pondered long — for a boy — over 
these solemn words of Citizen Daunou. But 
he dismissed them finally as the theories of one 
who had no love for the Emperor's methods, 
and he felt glad that none but himself had 
heard the remarks. For just then it was scarcely 
wise to talk peace in the imperial palace, whose 
indomitable master desired a new war of con- 

Next morning Philip obeyed orders, and re- 
ported at the Emperor's study. As he awaited 
the summons to enter, what was his surprise 
to see coming from the imperial sanctum his 
old friend Pierre, the deputy doorkeeper of La 
Force ! 

" What, Pierre ! You in the palace ! " he 

"And why not, young Desnouettes?" the 
deputy doorkeeper replied. " Others than 
pages are sometimes here. As for me — I had 
an appointment with the Emperor ! " 

" That is good ! " Philip exclaimed heartily. 
" I hope he did something fine for you. I 
thought he might. I spoke to him about you." 

" Thanks, Monsieur the Page! I am yours 
forever"; and the deputy doorkeeper bowed 


so very low that Philip was not certain whether 
it was in thanks or in fun. A queer little smile, 
too, played about the corner of the big boy's 
mouth. " Some day, my Philip," he said, " I 
may do as much for you. The Emperor thinks 
well of me, and I may yet get my step. He 
has given me a special service. What ? Oh, 
we shall see ; and so, too, some day may you. 
Adieu ! " 

Then he passed on; and even while Philip 
was puzzling over his hint the summons came, 
and the page entered the Emperor's study. 

" So ! you are there, young Desnouettes. 
And how old are you now, you boy ? " This 
was the Emperor's greeting. 

" I shall be sixteen next February, Sire," the 
boy replied. 

"And now it is August. Sixteen is some 
months away yet," the Emperor said. " But 
yet, sixteen is coming — and sixteen is the age 
for effort. See, you Philip ! Championship is 
excellent. Did I not one day make you 
champion in ordinary to the Emperor ? You 
are a loyal knight ; but sometimes champion- 
ship embarrasses. You were unwise last night. 
But you were plucky, and pluck is what the 
boys of France need, if France is to profit by 
their service. I shall send you to Alfort." 

" To Alfort, Sire ! " the boy cried. 

"Yes — to Alfort, Sire," mimicked the Em- 
peror. " But not to doctor horses, or to feel the 
pulses of pigs, Monsieur the Page. You shall 
join the cavalry class, and learn how to ride, 
and how to care for horses as one should who, 
in time, may become a special aide to the Em- 

"Oh, Sire, you are too good!" exclaimed 
delighted Philip. " It is what I most desire." 

" See, then," said the Emperor, " that you 
give attention to your duties, and heed the in- 
struction of those set apart to make a man of 
you. For there are men, my boy, who really 
do know more than boys, though I sometimes 
feel that my pages know all there is to know 
— or think they do." 

So Philip went to Alfort, and in that institu- 
tion, since made into a great veterinary college, 
the page spent several months, learning the na- 
ture and needs of horses. With thirty other 
boys he received instruction in the cavalry class, 




and became a daring and expert horseman. 
The Polytechnic School also he entered, as a 
" special," to perfect himself in drawing, in to- 
pography, and in penmanship; for the Emperor 
had, evidently, special service in view for this 
protege 1 of his, who, in spite of his propensity for 
getting into scrapes, was honest, plucky, and 
loyal — the three things that would best com- 
bine to make a faithful follower of the Emperor. 

A pleasant thing about Alfort was its near- 
ness to Yincennes, where Peyrolles was sta- 
tioned as one of the drill-masters of the Pupils 
of the Guard. Philip frequently visited the 
Corporal, and often on " leave days " he took 
the veteran to his friends in the Street of the 
Fight, where he would listen with glee to the 
worshiper of the Emperor, and the hater of the 
Corsican, as they debated long and loud over 
their pet topic — Napoleon. 

" Cresar has become Charlemagne," Uncle 
Fauriel declared ; " and the republic is dead, 
indeed. Why was I not a Brutus years ago ? 
Now — alas! — I am too fat to be deliverer or 

Mademoiselle and Philip laughed merrily 


over the idea of so fat a Brutus, though Brutus 
was quite a portly person, Uncle Fauriel in- 
formed them. As for Peyrolles, he played a good 

second to Fauriel's grumbling. " Why did I 
leave a leg at Austerlitz ? " he cried. " Was it 
to let another man step into the shoes I could 
no longer wear, and be made the duke or 
marshal I might have been ? " 

" Never mind, my Peyrolles," said Philip. 
"You are drill-master at Vincennes. You are 
helping to make dukes and marshals for 
France out of your little Pupils of the Guard." 

" Not so easy, that," said the Corporal, shak- 
ing his head. " I tried to make of you, young 
Desnouettes, at St. Cyr, a duke, or at least a 
marshal — and behold you ! only a page yet, 
or perhaps a horse-doctor ! " 

" Which may not be so bad a profession 
after all, Old Mustache," cried Uncle Fauriel. 
" For what is the saying : ' Set a beggar on 
horseback, and he will ride to destruction.' 
The Corsican is mounted already, and if Philip 
will but keep his horses in good trim, he will 
ride all the speedier to his end. And out of it 
may spring a new France, a greater republic. 
Good Doctor Philip, look to your horses' 

The Emperor, indeed, was mounted and rid- 
ing : no one yet could say to what end. For, 
as 1811 grew into 1812, the war-cloud swelled 
in bigness, and darkened. In June, 181 2, it 
burst. Napoleon crossed the river Niemen 
with half a million men. To cross that river, 
in arms, was to break the peace. France and 
Russia were at war. 

During the spring months of 1812 the Em- 
peror had drunk deep of power; and Philip, 
too, from the Emperor's cup had drunk deep 
of glory. For, though on the eve of a war 
that was to embroil all Europe, Napoleon 
sought, first, to dazzle all Europe with his 
splendor, his resources, and his power. Six 
hundred thousand men followed the imperial 
eagles — the mightiest army since the days of 
Alexander. He set out for the war encom- 
passed by glittering soldiers, and attended by 
princes and kings. At Dresden he spent three 
weeks in a blaze of display, marshaling his 
host. Receptions, festivals, levees, audiences, 
balls, reviews, shows, and ceremonials crowded 
each other in dizzy succession; everywhere or- 
ders gleamed and diamonds blazed ; and where 
he who once had starved himself as a sub-lieu- 

i8 9 s0 




tenant now held state as a monarch, sovereign came less regularly ; anxiety and rumors filled 
princes flocked to do honor to this " Marvel the air. None knew what to believe ; and 
of the Age," and vassal kings stood as suppli- though from the heart of Russia Napoleon ruled 
ants in the palace of him whom men called France, the people of France were uneasy, and 
" The New Agamemnon." wished their Emperor were back again, with 

Amid all this homage, Napoleon kept his all the brave Frenchmen whom he had led to 
head. While the French served him with the war. 
idolatry, and the Allies with adulation, he But to Philip, dividing his time between his 

sought to give no visible sign - 

of superiority ; he could even 
see the funny side of it all. 
For one day Philip the page, 
delaying an answer he should 
have brought with speed, met 
the Emperor's impatient de- 
mand : " How then, you page ! 
what are your legs for ? Why 
are you late ? " 

True to his habit, Philip 
straightway told the truth. 

" Sire," he replied ; " I could 
not help it. I came with the 
answer straight. But out here 
in the antechamber I got 
tangled up in a lot of kings, 
and had to just crowd my way 
through them to get in." 

Whereat Napoleon laughed, 
and pulled the boy's ear and 
hair so vigorously, in his ap- 
preciation of the joke, that the 
tears fairly started in the page's 

For, as you see Philip was 
in the thick of it all. Recalled 
from his studies to grace the 
progress to Dresden as one 
of the imperial pages, the boy 
Philip had been a part of the 
display that attended it, and, 
much to his disgust, was sent 
back to Paris when the Em- 
peror sounded the advance " On to Russia ! " special studies at the Polytechnic School and 
and the Empress returned by way of Prague his duties as a page of the palace, there came 
to her palace in France. but little of this unrest. While the fathers and 

In France there was much unrest. The Em- mothers of France were waiting anxiously for 
peror was fifteen hundred miles away, and nearly bulletins, sticking pins in their maps of Russia 
every household had been drawn upon for sol- at every place mentioned in the news that came 
diers to fight against Russia. At first came tid- home, and thus following the advance of the 
ings of victories. Then bulletins fell off; news troops, the boys of France were puffed up with 
Vol. XXII.— 7^. 

(SEE PAGE 587.) 

5 86 



glory, and longing for the day when they might 
be old enough to join the Young Guard, and 
march to victory with their never-conquered 
Emperor. Philip's only feeling of uneasiness 
lay in the fear that the war might close before 
the Emperor should summon him to the field. 
This fear he confided often to Corporal Pey- 
rolles, and almost as frequently to Mademoiselle. 

Peyrolles applauded " my boy," as he called 
Philip ; but Mademoiselle was full of anxieties, 
conjured alike from Citizen Daunou's gloomy 
forebodings and young Philip's extravagant 

These occupied her thoughts one bright 
October morning in this year of 1S12, when, 
accompanied by her old nurse, Marcel, now 
grown into a sort of chaperon to the young girl 
who had been her charge from babyhood, she 
set out for a walk from the Street of the Fight to 
the straggling Street of the Suburb of St. An- 
thony. For, in that quarter of the city, in the 
funny old streets (long since swept away by 
change) known as the Pig-sty and the Tree 
of Cracow, lived certain poor pensioners to 
whom Mademoiselle was a helpful angel of 

She had passed the towering plaster elephant 
of the Bastille (that ambitious memorial of 
tyranny overthrown, designed by the Emperor 
but never to be changed into bronze as he 
intended), and had almost reached the clingy 
side street known as the Little Picpus, when 
a carriage, dashing furiously down the Street 
of St. Anthony, almost overturned her as she 
was picking her way across the foaming gut- 
ter ; for it had rained heavily in Paris the 
night before. 

Bulky Nurse Marcel caught at the young 
girl's arm. Before she had done so, however, 
an alert young fellow, stockily built, caught 
Mademoiselle's other arm, and drew her back 
to the pavement and Nurse Marcel's care. But 
while Pierre had one eye for the girl, he nev- 
ertheless had another for the occupant of the 
hurrying carriage. 

"So, Mademoiselle," he said, "that was a 
narrow escape. And you could have no re- 
dress, had you been hurt. It was the Prefect 
of the Seine's carriage. He rides as if sent for. 
Something is afoot." 

" Thank you so much," Mademoiselle said 
prettily. " I did not see him coming. Even 
when one is sent for, one need not ride so 
furiously, and scare people half out of their 

" Ah, Mademoiselle," the boy declared with 
amusing importance, " when one is, like us, in 
an official station, one must do many things 
that do not seem gentle — even to running 
down pretty girls out for an airing." 

" Mademoiselle, — to me! " came Nurse Mar- 
cel's warning voice. But Mademoiselle was 
inquisitive, and was now bound to hear more 
from this young official. 

" And you are an official, then, Monsieur ? " 
she asked the big boy. 

"A deputy doorkeeper at La Force, Made- 
moiselle," he replied. 

" La Force ? the prison ? Then you must 
know Pierre. I mean Pierre Labeau — a boy 
on duty there." 

" I am that Pierre Labeau, at your service, 
Mademoiselle. And you ? " 

" Oh, we have heard of you so often from 
Philip! Have we not, Nurse? This is Mon- 
sieur Philip's friend, Pierre." 

" And a very forward young man he is! " cried 
Nurse Marcel. " Come away with me at once, 

'■ Monsieur Philip!" cried Pierre. ' L Is it, 
then, young Desnouettes, the page, of whom 
you speak ? Then you — you, Mademoiselle, 
perhaps, are — " 

" Mademoiselle Lucie Daunou, of the Street 
of the Fight," said the girl. 

" But not Citizen Daunou's daughter — is she 
now, Nurse?" Pierre demanded, so quickly, 
indeed, that Nurse Marcel flushed, and said 
sharply, " And why not ? Who else, Monsieur 
Stupid ? Why, I have known her ever since 
the day Citizen Daunou brought her to his 
home — bah, then! what am I saying?" she 
cried in startled confusion. 

"Brought me — me! Why, what are you 
saying, Nurse? What does it mean, that?'' 
Mademoiselle cried. " I never heard of it ! 
Oh ! but what is this ? " 

It was a bit of torn paper blown by the wind 
into the girl's hand. Even in her surprise at 
Nurse Marcel's words, Mademoiselle's curiosity 

i8 95 ] 



as to the bit of torn paper displaced her first in- 
quisitiveness, and she spread it out to read. 
It was baffling; for this is what she saw : 

To the Count Frockat, Prefect 
he Seine, wherever he may be found. 
Hide with speed/ 

General Headquarters, 
Place Vendome. 
23d October, 1812, 

6 o'clock, A. M. 
refect. — I have the honor to 
py of the decree of the Sen- 
nouncing the sad ti- 
of the Emperor, by a 
walls of Moscow on 
of this month of October 
on of their command, 
e the City Hall for 
provisional gov- 
the Republic 
th speed. 
Army of 

" How strange ! " cried Mademoiselle. " What 
can it all mean, Pierre ? " 

The deputy doorkeeper, equally curious, took 
the letter, and scanned it curiously. 

'"The Count Frochat, Prefect of the Seine,' " 
he read. " It came from his carriage then, 
Mademoiselle — 'decree of the Senate — an- 
nouncing sad tidings — of the Emperor — 
walls of Moscow — month of October — the 
City Hall — provisional government — the Re- 
public — Army of Paris ' — why, what is it, then? 
I said something was up. Something is ! " 

He turned the torn paper over, puzzled 
enough. Mademoiselle's sharp eyes caught 
sight of some bold handwriting on the back 
of the letter. 

" What is that, Pierre ? " she said, pointing 
to the words. 

" Fit — it," the boy spelled out. " I do not 
know, Mademoiselle. It is not French, this. 
What is it ? " 

It was not French. It was Latin. Mad- 
emoiselle read the two bold words, looking 
over Pierre's shoulder. " ' Fuit Imperator .' ' 
That means, ' The Emperor has been.' The 
Emperor has been ? Oh, Pierre ! What have 
I found ? " she cried. " The Emperor is 
dead 1 " 

Pierre excitedly struck his hand upon the 
torn bit of paper. 

" So ! I see it all ! " he cried. " Killed un- 
der the walls of Moscow ! Whew ! but here 
is a tangle, though ! " 

And without a word of adieu the deputy 
doorkeeper turned sharply, and dashed down 
the Street of the Suburb of St. Anthony, head- 
ing as straight as its crowded ways would per- 
mit for the City Hall and the " General 
Headquarters " in the Place Vendome. 

Chapter XIV. 


Mademoiselle stood for a moment looking 
after the flying Pierre. Then she said: "Oh, 
that poor little baby ! Why, he is emperor now ! 
Come with me, Nurse. I must go to the palace 
and tell Philip. Perhaps he does not know it, 
and he might wish to hear of it in time." 

" But we are not for palaces, Mademoiselle," 
Nurse Marcel objected. " How would I be 
received there — I, the widow of a sanscu- 
lotte ? They will send me to La Force, if they 
do but know that once I was ' Citizeness ' and 
danced the Carmagnole." 

" Never fear that, Nurse," Mademoiselle re- 
assured her companion. " They cannot know ; 
and I must see Philip." 

So, grumbling still, Nurse Marcel turned 
with the young girl, and together they hastened 
westward ; for, though the Empress was at St. 
Cloud, Philip's duties were largely at the Tui- 
leries when he was not at the Polytechnic 

Mademoiselle saw that soldiers were march- 
ing that way, and that in the City Hall Square 
the whole Tenth Brigade were drawn up before 
the city building. Clearly something had hap- 

At the palace Mademoiselle soon found 
Philip. To him she told the news. Had he 
heard it ? she asked. Was it not dreadful ? 

" Dreadful ? Why, it is never true," Philip 
declared. "The bullet is not made that can 
kill the Emperor. The letter was a trick. 
Wait here a moment, Mademoiselle. Let me 
report what you tell me, and inquire." 

5 88 



He returned speedily. 

" Something is wrong," he said. " The square 
is filling with soldiers. The horse-guards have 
just galloped to St. Cloud. Every one seems 
mystified. Strange things, they say, have hap- 
pened. The Minister of Police has been 
locked up in La Force. So, too, has Pasquier, 
the prefect. The commander of the Paris 
garrison has been assassinated. The City Hall 
is surrounded ; the Ministry of War is in the 
hands of red republicans ; the Senate, it is said, 
has issued a decree announcing the death of 
the Emperor, and proclaiming the Republic." 

" The Republic ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle. 
" Why, Philip, how may that be ? If the Em- 
peror is dead, the little King of Rome is Empe- 
ror. Why should the republicans have the 
power ? Dear me ! I hope my father is not in 
it all. Of course Uncle Fauriel is." 

" No matter what they say, I will not be- 
lieve it," Philip declared. " The Emperor dead ! 
How absurd ! The Emperor cannot die. What 
would become of France ? " 

" Why, Philip, I suppose emperors have 
died before," Mademoiselle suggested. 

" But not The Emperor," said Philip, 
proudly. " But, true or not, I am in a muddle; 
and what a ferment will France be in ! So, too, 
will the city. Were it not wise, Mademoiselle, 
for me to conduct you, and Nurse here, to the 
Street of the Fight — or at least to Citizen 
Daunou's safe-keeping at the Archives ? The 
streets will soon be in an uproar." 

So, dodging the crowds that thronged the 
streets, and yet, with the curiosity of youth, un- 
willing to let slip any chance of seeing what 
was afoot, the young people, with Nurse Mar- 
cel clutching at Mademoiselle's arm, arrived at 
last at the Palace of the Archives in the Street 
of the Wheat Field. 

There, in his office, they found the good 
Keeper of the Archives, as cool and as calm 
as ever, poring over his dusty documents, and 
apparently indifferent to all the rumors and ex- 
citement that filled the city. 

Breathless they told what Mademoiselle had 
found, and what Philip had heard. 

" The Emperor dead ? That is now but 
ancient history, my children," remarked the old 
Keeper. "Was I in it? No; nor yet Uncle 

Fauriel. Do you take us for lunatics, you two ? 
Why, it was but a scare and a sell. And yet, 
it might have proved a tragedy — that 1 will 
admit. But, bless you both ! the Emperor is 
as alive as you or I ; and the hot-heads, the 
crazy-pates, who sought to raise an insurrec- 
tion are safe, now, under lock and key. Yes, 
it was nearly accomplished — that I may not 
deny ; but by a lucky chance — or shall we 
say an unlucky one? — who can tell? — by a 
lucky chance, let us call it, the plot failed; and 
thanks to whom, think you ? To your friend 
Pierre, my Philip — Pierre, the deputy door- 
keeper of La Force. He is the hero of the 
hour. I have but just heard the whole story. 
That crazy-pate Malet, late general under the 
Republic, — you must have heard Uncle Fauriel 
tell of him, — was at the bottom of it all ; and 
now he is in prison once more, and his head 
is not worth a button. So, come ; get you back 
to home and duty, my children. It is but an 
incident. See — it is over. Leave me to my 

Citizen Daunou was right. It was but an 
incident, but it well-nigh proved an event. A 
cleverly laid plot against the Empire, which in- 
cluded an announcement of the Emperor's 
death, a forged decree of the Senate, a surprise 
of the heads of departments, and the transfer 
of all commands to the conspirators, had been 
so skilfully carried out that it would have suc- 
ceeded but for the quick eye of Pierre, the 
deputy doorkeeper of La Force. 

The account of the attempt is one of the 
most dramatic chapters in the Napoleonic 
story ; but, save for Pierre's connection with 
it, the conspiracy of General Malet, as it is 
called, has no especial bearing upon our story. 
It was one of those historic oddities that might 
have changed the world's history had it suc- 
ceeded. But it failed ; and to-day it is almost 
forgotten, though certain foolish and certain 
brave men paid with their lives for their con- 
nection with it. 

Philip lost no time in hunting up Pierre at 
La Force. From him he learned the details 
of that lynx-eyed young fellow's part in the 

"After I left Mademoiselle," the deputy door- 
keeper said, " I hurried to the City Hall. I 

i8 9S ]. 



could learn nothing certain ; but that homely 
little commander Laborde, — you know him, my 
Philip, that bunged-up aide-de-camp of Dou- 
cet the adjutant — he spied me. 'See, there, 
you Labeau, come with me to headquarters,' 
he said; 'you may be of service to me.' You 
see, he knew I was on 
duty at La Force, and 
I suppose he thought 
if he should happen 
to be arrested and sent 
there, it would be well 
to be in my care. So 
to headquarters we 
went — in the Place 
Vendome. The troops 
were all about the 
building, and the sen- 
tries would not let us 
pass. OurlittleLaborde 
cried : ' Fools ! I am 
here on duty. Let me 
enter.' And they did. 
We went then to the 
adjutant's office. La- 
borde left me without. 
I heard high words. 
Then Laborde called 
me. I pushed past the 
sentry at the door, and 
entered. Doucet the 
adjutant was there ; 
Laborde was there ; 
a man in a general's 
uniform was there. 
I looked at him. I 
knew him. ' What, 
General Malet ! ' I 
said, ' you here ! Who 
gave you leave to quit 
La Force ? ' My faith, 
Philip ! He was one of 
my prisoners — Malet 

the republican, from the prison hospital. Oh, 
but he was mad ! ' Fool ! ' he hissed at me. 
' Fool, yourself! ' said I. ' Here is some- 
thing wrong, gentlemen. This is an escaped 
prisoner. Arrest him, and I will go for the 
Minister of Police.' With that the runaway 
tried to pull his pistol. We jumped at him and 

pinned him down. 'An escaped lunatic ? ' asked 
Doucet the adjutant, as he sat on the fallen 
general. 'But the decree of the Senate?' he 
went on. ' Forged, Monsieur the Adjutant,' I 
said ; ' it must be a forged decree. This Malet 
is a clever lunatic' Laborde ran to the win- 

: -.'- - 

- . i 


v . 


* 1 

[ 1 ■ ( 2" 





(SEE PAGE 59O.) 

dow. ' A trick ! a trick ! ' he cried. ' The Em- 
peror is not dead. To your barracks, soldiers ! 
You have been duped by a lunatic ! ' That is 
all there is to it. The plot is discovered. The 
scare is over. Malet is in La Force, and I — " 
" You have saved France, Pierre," Philip cried, 
hugging the deputy doorkeeper in delight. 




" Well — perhaps. Thanks to little Made- 
moiselle Daunou — if she is Daunou," said 
Pierre. " If Mademoiselle had not found that 
bit of torn paper in the Street of St. Anthony, I 
should not have been on hand ; I should not 
have recognized Malet ; he would have suc- 
ceeded, and — whew, though! what a tangle 
we should have been in ! " 

Philip felt proud of his friends. Mademoi- 
selle and Pierre had saved the Empire, and won 
the thanks of the Emperor. 

" Long life to both of you ! " the page cried. 
" Pierre, you will get your step." 

Pierre did get his step. For when the Em- 
peror returned to Paris, Pierre was made a po- 
lice inspector — the youngest on the force — 
and besides he received the thanks of the Em- 
peror in person. 

" You were the only one, you boy," said Na- 
poleon, " among all those imbeciles in power, 
that had eyes, and could see : that had brains, 
and could use them. I said you were clever. 
I was right. My faith ! if you were but old 
enough I would make you Minister of Police. 
Boy though you are, you are the best duke 
among them all." 

For, you see, Napoleon did come back. 
That coming back is historic. The world has 
not yet finished talking of it. 

Philip was on hand when it happened. It 
was December 18, in that eventful year of 1812. 
Paris was depressed. France was distressed. 
The world was astonished. Only the day be- 
fore there had been made public a bulletin from 
the army in Russia, in which the Emperor told 
France that he had not succeeded in conquer- 
ing Russia. He had not lost a battle. His 
soldiers had been brave and heroic. But the 
weather had proved their enemy. The cold 
had been so intense that men and horses had 
perished. Order had been lost. War and dis- 
aster fell upon the armies of France. The Cos- 
sacks had harried them. In recrossing the 
Beresina river many had been drowned. But 
the Emperor was alive and well. 

Men shook their heads gravely over this un- 
expected news. But boys are ever hopeful. 
Philip had said : " Ah ! the Emperor is there. 
He will soon set matters right." And he had 
thought but little of disaster. For his Emperor 

had never known defeat ! His Emperor never 
could know it ! 

It was half-past eleven o'clock on the night 
of December 18. Philip was on duty at the 
Tuileries. At his post outside the drawing- 
room of the Empress he sat nodding, half 

Suddenly he started to his feet. The sound 
of voices in dispute, as if demanding an en- 
trance, came to his ears. They were in the cor- 
ridor below him, at the very entrance to the 

The door of the antechamber in which the 
listening page was stationed was flung open. 
Two men hurried in. They were wrapped in 
furs, and looked rough and excited. 

" Is it a new plot ? " Philip wondered. Be- 
yond him were the apartments of the Empress 
and the little King of Rome — the heir to the 
Empire. Philip's breath came fast. His heart 
beat excitedly. He was no more than a boy, 
he knew, but he would defend the Empress 
with his life. 

" Stand back, sirs ! " he cried. " This is the 
apartment of the Empress. None may enter 
here ! " 

He had no weapon at hand, but he caught 
up a chair, and threatened the strangers, block- 
ing their advance. 

" What, boy ! Why, young Desnouettes," 
cried the smaller of the two men, " do you 
not know me ? " 

It was the Emperor ! Philip almost dropped 
in surprise. 

" You, Sire ? " he exclaimed in amazement. 
" And the Russians ? Are they defeated 
already ! " 

" Already ? " the Emperor repeated, almost 
sadly, placing a hand upon the boy's head. 
" We come alone. You are a brave boy, you 
Philip. Come, Caulaincourt." 

And, without another word, the Emperor 
and his equerry pushed past the page, and en- 
tered the drawing-room of the Empress. 

Philip was puzzled. The Emperor coming 
back thus secretly — and alone? He could not 
understand it all. 

But too soon he did. And so did France. 
Napoleon had suffered his first defeat. 

Of all that vast army, the fugitive Emperor 




and his attendant were the only men who had 
yet returned. Thousands upon thousands of 
brave Frenchmen had left their bones bleaching 
upon Russian snows. Of the half-million men 
who with streaming banners and flashing bayo- 
nets had crossed the Niemen to conquer the 
East, only a paltry seventy thousand recrossed 
— a tattered, frost-bitten, starving, straggling, 
desperate, and weary band of defeated fugi- 
tives. The invasion of Russia was a terrible 

It was the cold that had done it. The Clerk 
of the Weather had taken the field against 
Napoleon, and the hitherto unconquered Em- 
peror had been vanquished by the thermometer. 

That was what he declared. That was what 
Philip accepted; and, with many a sigh and 
many a bitter thought, the boy, who believed 
so firmly in the prowess and puissance of his 
Emperor, blamed the Clerk of the Weather and 
cried, " Hard luck that ! This Ceneral Frost 
is a beast! If only, now, the weather were 
a man, how the Emperor would have beaten 
him ! " 

Poor Philip ; poor Emperor ; poor France ! 
Malet's conspiracy and Russian frosts were to 
begin a new chapter in the history of their 
homeland, and to all three were to bring 
changes and misfortunes of which none of 
them had ever dreamed. 

( To be continued. ) 

fa ^ite«5, (l 

3 / \'W^.i 



By Jessie M. Anderson. 


[Begun in the January ?iumber.\ 

Chapter XIII. 


. . . Frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 

Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. 

— Taming of the Shrew. 

Three days after Fran went home, she wrote 
a long letter to her friends at college : 

The flat is a very funny affair. In the novelty of it, 
we have had hardly a chance to miss our dear old house. 
My small brothers spend their afternoons riding up and 

down in the elevator, to the distraction of the lower 

To-day has been an uncommonly comical one; you 
will enjoy an account of it. 

All the morning I had been chief cook and bottle- 
washer in the kitchen end of the flat, and was attired in a 
blue-and-green plaid gingham wrapper which I had iust 
made for Mama, and I had my hair down my back in a 
braid — tied, I grieve to say, with a bit of black elastic. 

There came an impatient ring at the bell, and I an- 
swered it. And there stood my" Aunt Majestic," as we 
alwavs call her, because, when we were children, she 
used to stand so loftily straight and reach out one finger 
to shake hands. 

She lives in New York, and she does not often ven- 



ture so far west as Chicago. She had not seen me for 
years, — since papa took me to call on her in New York, 
on our way home from Paris, when I was about thirteen. 
Of course she did not know me. 

So she said, " Is Mrs. Townsend at home ? " and / 
said, " Won't you be seated, madam, and I will ascer- 
tain." Then I flew into Mama's bedroom, and told her 
the tale, and warned her against giving me away. Well, 
if you please, who should come in next, but Aunt Phcebe, 
who has a sheep-ranch out in Dakota, and is perfectly 
reckless of conventions and of English, too, and can't 
abide the Majestic. She had n't seen me, either, for 

Of course they both stayed for luncheon, and I waited 
upon the table. 

I smuggled the boys out into the kitchen, when they 
came home from school, and gave them all manner of 
goodies as a bribe to stay there. 

Well ! the dear things all sat down together. Fortu- 
nately Papa did not come up for luncheon, or I should 
have given up the game: it is so hard explaining things 
to men ! 

I stood around at appropriate intervals, with the salads 
and things, — and my salads are not such stuff as dreams 
are made on ! So you need n't pity them. Then Aunt 
Maria Majestic said that she hoped that Frances had 
been toned down a little by our trouble; for as a little 
child she had had an irrepressible pertness of manner, 
and a way of jabbering French that was anything but 
agreeable. Mama laughed hysterically, and tried not to 
look at me. And Aunt Phoebe said, " She 's a bright 
little piece, though — that 's what I always say about 
Fanny. She 's peart, but she 's cute as a gopher ! But 
then, she 's such a mere child! She '11 settle — gracious 
sakes, she '11 settle ! " 

I vanished into the kitchen, for Mama was anything 
but happy, but kept things going as well as she could 
till I got the face to go back and finish passing the 
Roquefort cheese. 

Then Aunt Phcebe said : " You see, I have n't been 
east — to Massachusetts, that is to say — for three years, 
and I must say I 'd like pretty well to go up and see 

And Mama told her it was Smith, knowing how I 
hate " Smith's " ! 

At last they got through with their eating, and every- 
body fell back to let the Majestic Maria get launched. 
And she slid into the drawing-room, and said she must 
hurry off to meet a friend at the Auditorium for the 
Philharmonic matinee. She had dropped in only to 
assure us that she would never desert us because For- 
tune had deserted us; and if there were anything she 
coulddo — ; but Mama said we were getting on very well ; 
whereupon she kissed Mama's cheek, and shook fingers 
with Aunt Phcebe, — and she was off. 

Then I went in and owned up to Aunt Phoebe, and 
she 's laughing yet over it. And then I went to Field's 
and did a little shopping, and home to write to you 
before I get dinner. 

Was n't that a good little farce? But there! Aunt 
Vol. XXII.— 75. 

Phcebe wants dinner early, so that she can go to the Battle 
of Gettysburg cyclorama. 

So it 's good by to you, dear Boffins ! With the same 
feelin's, here or in the Bower, 

Your Mrs. Boffin. 

And Ruth wrote in answer : 

My dearest Fran : We had all been thinking of 
the sad difference between the home-going at Christmas 
and this one for you, when your bright letter came. We 
see you are, as usual, making the best of everything, and. 
getting fun out of it. 

I do think, dearie, you are a wonder ! And I take 
back most humbly all I once said about your not being 
a true college girl, because you liked " society "and home 
life. You are more of a real college girl than I; for you 
have shown power to adjust yourself to life, which is the 
aim of education, — while I only preached ! 

Well, dear Fran, I 'm prouder of you than of any 
other girl in our class. Nathalie said she would write 
a note to go with this, but she is n't to be found ! So 
that must wait. 

With warmest love from The Bower for our cherished 
absent Boffin, 



Chapter XIV. 
Nathalie's birthday. 

O gentle Year, I '11 not entreat thee stay, — 
Yet, gliding from me with the sliding sand, 
Thou shalt not pass till I have kissed the hand 
That gave me joys, and took but time away. 

— Helen Gray Cone. 

Nathalie's two weaknesses were eating ap- 
ples and lying abed in the morning. On 
this particular morning, just as the rising-bell 
rang at seven o'clock, she heard the sound of 
sweeping in the hall, and had one energetic 
thought of getting up to shut the transom 
against the invading dust; but a second and 
wiser one reminded her that it was her twen- 
tieth birthday, and surely a little indulgence in 
sleep was a proper luxury ! So she dozed off 
again, with a smile as she thought of Fran's 
old saying, " And our little lives are rounded 
by a bell ! " 

When — at last fairly up and ready for break- 
fast — she opened the door, she saw what all 
the ostensible noise of sweeping had been. It 
was an ingenious cover for great preparations 

Tied to the door of No. 28, by strings of 
different lengths, rolled apples of all sizes, 




shapes, and colors, with appropriate mottos, 
one from nearly every one of the fifty girls in 
the Hubbard House. One was dedicated to 
the " Apple of Mine Eye " ; one inscribed with 
the legend " Wilhelm Tell"; while on twenty 
or thirty were comical verses, such as this : 

Oh, Nalhalie, 
Never your temper rumpling, 

We sigh for thee, 

Die for thee, 
Your teelh our fair skins crumpling ! 

For we are going to turn you 
Into an apple-dumpling ! 

In the midst of the rolling apples stood the 
three legs of a small round table. On it, in 
the center, was a potted mullein plant — for 
Nathalie had been detected cutting out a 
newspaper slip on " How to redden the cheeks 
by rubbing them with mullein-leaves " ! 

All about the table, depending by bridal- 
looking white ribbons, were boxes of flowers, 
which Nathalie was trying in vain to crowd 
into one tall, slim vase, two little fat ones, and 
a small three-cornered glass bonbon dish, when 
in rushed Ruth's new room-mate, already al- 
nust a Boffin, with two more parcels from the 
florist's, and warned the excited girl that she 
would better be going down to breakfast, be- 
fore the dining-room doors were shut. " There 
are only two girls and three biscuits left now, 
so run along ! " she said, kissing Nathalie on 
the end of her nose. And Nathalie ran along, 
rather dazed, but exceedingly happy. 

When she walked into the breakfast-room, 
one of the girls said, laughing, " ' Lost to sight, 
to memory dear ! ' " And Nathalie laughed, 
too, and blushed, without the aid of a mullein- 
leaf, behind the great bunch of Marechal Niels 
that she had tucked into her belt. 

The day went on, like any common day, 
through recitation periods and meal occasions, 
with intervals for examining Nathalie's mail- 

In the evening the Bower gave a Dickens 
party, an entire surprise to Our Mutual Friend. 
Mr. Boffin explained that he had always wished 
lie were in the same book with that delightful 
Bleak House " Guardian," and some of the 
rest of " Charley's " acquaintances ; and that 

he had availed himself of the larger liberty 
of American soil to gather together some of 
these folk for a friendly chat. 

A queer concourse it was, and a merry one. 
Imagination and the T. Q. costume-wardrobe 
had done their best. Popcorn took the place 
of the Boffin veal-pie, and little "Oliver Twist" 
boldly asked for more. 

"Agnes" half shrinkingly poured out a cup 
of tea for the squirming " Uriah Heep." " Mr. 
Micawber" playfully embraced "Mrs. Micaw- 
ber" when she said she did n't know when she 
was going to get her lessons for the next morn- 
ing, and assured her that something would turn 
up. And the stern " Widow Defarge " sat in 
the corner and knit and knit, and answered 
questions with grim composure. 

But at last the ten-o'clock bell put an end 
to the knitting and the corn-popping — and to 
Nathalie's first college birthday. 

"It would have been perfect if we had only 
had Fran here," was Nathalie's last remark, as 
she hurried off to her little room, storing up all 
the details of the fun for Fran's next Boffin 

Chapter XV. 


Be useful where thou livest, that they may 
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. 

— George Herbert. 

The last two weeks of the spring term were 
the most eventful of the year. Northampton 
was full of proud friends of the graduating 
class, and was at her best of bright sunshine, 
the air not yet too warm, the roads not yet 
dusty, the trees holding out a generous leafy 
shade, the river wide and peaceful. 

The boarding-houses about town had a less 
poetic conception of June, and put their rates 
at Commencement figures. Lucky were such 
of the " outside " boarding students as had 
made their bargains fast for " board at regular 
rates until the middle of June"; or such as 
had fallen to landladies in whose souls was 
developed a sense of true fairness distinct from 
a wish to make all they could. 

For the balance of supply and demand was 
quite lost. Many of the undergraduates had 
chosen this time for visits from their friends. 




Ruth, fortunately, had been early in the race, 
and had secured for her mother and Elsie a 
room in Elm Street, within short walking-dis- 
tance of the college. 

Great was the rejoicing at the Bower when, 
at the last minute, Fran wrote that Aunt Phoebe 
had obtained for her a " pass " on the railroad 
which would take her to Springfield, and that 
she would be in Northampton for Commence- 
ment week. Mrs. Chittenden and Elsie man- 
aged to squeeze her in with them, and the 
whole town held no happier " family reunion " 
than that of the three Boffins. 

But poor little Elsie had managed, in the 
short walk to the college grounds, to turn her 
foot on a stone, so that she had to stay at the 
Hubbard House most of the week, unable to 
move from the " Trojan Horse," and claiming 
all the Boffins' odd minutes for her amusement. 

The child was a new element in the Bower, 
and a keen delight to the Boffins. There was 
a half conscious, half earnest competing for the 
first place in her favor; and even Ruth, who 
had always been Elsie's idol, was a bit piqued 
that Elsie chose Nathalie to stay with her 
one afternoon, while the others took a long- 
planned drive to Mount Holyoke. Nathalie 
was devoted to the sunny, affectionate little 
girl, and at Homewood had given long hours 
to her tiny ladyship's entertainment. 

" Tell me some more of those fascillating sto- 
ries about your brother Fred," Elsie begged 

" I will, duckie," Nathalie answered willingly, 
sitting down by the little maid, and stroking 
the soft curls as she told another of the little 
home stories Elsie liked so well. 

Elsie clapped her hands. " I do like boys' 
stories and games ! Will you show me, some 
time, how to play some of the games you 've 
told about, when you come to Homewood ? " 

Nathalie smiled and promised, and had a 
sweet, womanly vision of the future as she lifted 
the tiny maid, with the clinging arms about her 
neck, and carried her for a "little journey round 
the room." 

" I do love you, 'Thalie," Elsie sighed con- 
tentedly. " Can't you come and live always 
very, very near Homewood, and bring Fred ? " 

" I don't know about Fred," Nathalie an- 

swered, laughing and kissing the soft, clinging 
little bundle. 

Chapter XVI. 

ruth's announcement. 

No man can guess what faculty or feeling a new object 
shall unlock, any more than he can draw to-day the. face 
of a person he shall see to-morrow for the first time. 

— Einerson. 

In the mean time, Ruth and her mother and 
Fran were driving along one of those straight, 
uneventful bits of country road that seem like 
certain monotonous stretches of a quiet life, 
when Ruth rather abruptly remarked : 

"There is something on my mind, mother 
dear, that I wish you and Fran to know." 

Something in the tone made Fran, who was 
sitting in front, face around so suddenly as to 
run the risk of upsetting the surrey by the sharp 
jerk of the horse to the left. 

" I have decided to study medicine. I have 
a fair start in the natural sciences now, and I 
mean to do as much as possible in biology and 
anatomy at college, and then take my P. G. 
[post-graduatej in medicine. I have just lately 
made up my mind that I long to be a doctor." 

" A bird-doctor ? " said Fran, who never lost 
a chance to poke fun at the Audubon enthu- 
siasm of her room-mate. 

" No ; a child's doctor," answered Ruth, with 
a quiet, half shy earnestness which shamed 
Fran's humor. " I do really, really mean it. 
Mother dear, what do you think of it ? " 

" You must ask papa," said Mrs. Chittenden, 
being that kind of woman. She had a dread 
of all such discussion, and now she settled back 
in her corner, arranging some wild flowers that 
Fran had picked for her. 

" You know, mother, don't you, that I don't 
wish to do anything in the woman's-rights line ? 
I 've always thought a woman-doctor for little 
children would be the greatest treasure to a 
community. But I never thought of doing the 
thing myself till one day last week. Since then 
I 've decided." 

" Well, you 've surprised us this time ! " Fran 
exclaimed. " Why, Ruth, who 'd have thought 
it ! Our Boffin going in for a ' sphere,' and a 
novel, picturesque one, too ! I 've had that 
idea, myself, that men-doctors can't understand 

59 6 


children as well as women could — and they 
frighten them half to death ! Why, it 's a bully 
idea ! " 

" I never knew you so slangy before ! " re- 
monstrated Ruth, deeply gratified, however, by 
Fran's way of taking her news. 

" It 's a habit of my early youth ! " Fran 
groaned melodramatically ; " and in seasons of 
preternatural excitement it returns with all its 
former terrors ! " 

So they talked carelessly of other things; and 
the last few days of the term slid past, with 
hardly another mention of Ruth's plan. 

As will happen in this workaday world, most 
of the parting words of the Boffins were — not 
of the past, nor of the future, of the " Family " 
— but of train-schedules and trunk-expressmen, 

and of the ten-dollar deposit tohold her new room 
in the Hatfield, for which Ruth had forgotten 
to make any allowance in her pocket-money. 

But as ideal things, too, have a trick of hap- 
pening in this real world, we may take one 
last glimpse ahead — just seven years ahead! 

At Homewood again. Will Chittenden and 
Nathalie are bending over their darling two- 
year-old, fast asleep, while Ruth looks on with 
a smile of deep, rare joy; and Elsie, now grown 
nearly as tall as her elder sister, is forced into a 
waltz down the hall outside by the rejoicing 
Fran, into whose ear she whispers : 

" I 'm glad Ruth did not get married, as you 
and Cousin Nathalie did ; because she 's mak- 
ing little Willy get well, and mothers can't 
make their children get well, can they ? " 




By Frederick B. Opper. 

Said Ali Ben Hassan, a kind-hearted man, 
" I '11 treat my poor camel as well as I can. 

" To temper the heat, I will shade the poor fellow 
With my second-best, apple-green cotton umbrella. 

" With a pair of blue goggles I '11 shield his poor eyes 
From the glare of the sun, and I '11 keep off the flies 

" And cool him, at times, with my big palm-leaf fan ! " 
Said Ali Ben Hassan, a kind-hearted man. 


When Polly's winter hat came home, 
As gay as it could be, 

She begged to wear it in the house, 

And out to early tea. 
And then she said to brother Ted- — 

They both were tiny mites — 
" I 'm glad that wearing pretty hats 

Is one of women's rights ! " 

L. E. Chittenden. 


By Felix Leigh. 

Sophia's hair was just as soft as any silk that 's Louisa looked a perfect pet, and positively 

spun ; sweet, 

And as for fine complexions — well, I 'm sure In pretty frilly baby clothes, with cap and shoes 

that she had one. complete. 

Her disposition, too, was kind ; she 'd never She would have grown up tall and fair, I very 

frown or pout — often think — 

But Punch, our puppy, chewed her, and let all But Charlie played at clergyman, and christened 

her sawdust out. her with ink. 

Evadne I remember well, and also my surprise And now here 's Arabella, who may some day 
And joy when I discovered she had automatic learn to speak : 

eyes. For talking ought to follow if one cultivates a 
She used to sleep as soundly as a mother could squeak. 

desire — She '11 probably be famous for her eloquence 
But she ofily stared and rattled after falling in and wit — 

the fire. But accidents will happen, so we must if t count on it. 



By Theodore Roosevelt. 

Daniel Boone will always occupy a unique 
place in our history as the archetype of the 
hunter and wilderness wanderer. He was a 
true pioneer, and stood at the head of that 
class of Indian-fighters, game-hunters, forest- 
fellers, and backwoods farmers who, generation 
after generation, pushed westward the border 
of civilization from the Alleghanies to the Pa- 
cific. As he himself said, he was " an instru- 
ment ordained of God to settle the wilderness." 
Born in Pennsylvania, he drifted south into 
western North Carolina, and settled on what 
was then the extreme frontier. There he mar- 
ried, built a log cabin, and hunted, chopped 
trees, and tilled the ground like any other 
frontiersman. The Alleghany Mountains still 
marked a boundary beyond which the settlers 
dared not go ; for west of them lay immense 
reaches of frowning forest, uninhabited save by 
bands of warlike Indians. Occasionally some 
venturesome hunter or trapper penetrated this 
immense wilderness, and returned with strange 
stories of what he had seen and done. 

In 1769 Boone, excited by these vague and 
wondrous tales, determined to cross the moun- 
tains and himself find out what manner of land 
it was that lay beyond. With a few chosen 
companions he set out, making his own trail 
through the gloomy forest. After weeks of 
wandering, he at last emerged into the beauti- 
ful and fertile country of Kentucky, for which, 
in after years, the red men and the white strove 
with such obstinate fury that it grew to be 
called " the dark and bloody ground." But 
when Boone first saw it, it was a fair and smil- 
ing land of groves and glades and running 
waters, where the open forest grew tall and 
beautiful, and where innumerable herds of 
game grazed, wandering ceaselessly to and fro 
along the trails they had trodden during count- 
less generations. Kentucky was not occupied 
by any Indian tribe, and was visited only by 

roving war-parties and hunting-parties who 
came from among the savage nations living 
north of the Ohio or south of the Tennessee. 

A roving war-party stumbled upon one of 
Boone's companions and killed him, and the 
others then left Boone; but his brother came 
out to join him, and the two spent the winter 
together. Self-reliant, fearless, and possessed of 
great bodily strength and hardihood, they cared 
little for the loneliness. The teeming myriads 
of game furnished abundant food ; the herds of 
shaggy-maned bison and noble-antlered elk, the 
bands of deer and the numerous black bears, 
were all ready for the rifle, and they were bold 
and easily slain. The wolf and the cougar, 
too, sometimes fell victims to the prowess of 
the two hunters. 

At times they slept in hollow trees, or in 
some bush lean-to of their own making ; at 
other times, when they feared Indians, they 
changed their camping-place every night, and 
after making a fire would go off a mile or two 
in the woods to sleep. Surrounded by brute 
and human foes, they owed their lives to their 
Sleepless vigilance, their keen senses, their eagle 
eyes, and their resolute hearts. 

When the spring came, and the woods were 
white with the dogwood blossoms and crim- 
soned with the redbud, Boone's brother left 
him, and Daniel remained for three months 
alone in the wilderness. Then the brother 
came back again with a party of hunters ; and 
other parties likewise came in, to wander for 
months and years through the wilderness ; and 
they wrought huge havoc among the vast herds 
of game. 

In 1 77 1 Boone returned to his home. Two 
years later he started to lead a party of settlers 
to the new country; but while passing through 
the frowning defiles of Cumberland Gap, they 
were attacked by Indians, and driven back, — 
two of Boone's own sons being slain. In 1775, 





however, he made another attempt ; and this 
attempt was successful. The Indians attacked 
the new-comers; but by this time the parties of 
would-be settlers were sufficiently numerous to 
hold their own. They beat back the Indians, 
and built rough little hamlets, surrounded by 
log stockades, at Boonesborough and Harrods- 
burg ; and the permanent settlement of Ken- 
tucky had begun. 

The next few years were passed by Boone 
amid unending Indian conflicts. He was a 
leader among the settlers, both in peace and 
in war. At one time he represented them in 
the House of Burgesses of Virginia ; at another 
time he was a member of the first little Ken- 
tucky parliament itself; and he became a col- 
onel of the frontier militia. He tilled the land, 
and he chopped the trees himself; he helped 
build the cabins and stockades with his own 
hands, wielding the long-handled, light-headed 
frontier ax as skilfully as other frontiersmen did. 
His main business was that of surveyor, for his 
knowledge of the country, and his ability to 
travel through it in spite of the danger from 
Indians, created much demand for his services 
among people who wished to lay off tracts of 
wild land for their own future use. But what- 
ever he did, and wherever he went, he had to 
be sleeplessly on the watch for his Indian foes. 
When he and his fellows tilled the stump-dotted 
fields of corn, one or more of the party were 
always on guard, with rifle at the ready, for 
fear of lurking savages. When he went to the 
House of Burgesses he carried his long rifle, 
and traversed roads not a mile of which was 
free from the danger of Indian attacks. The 
settlements in the early years depended exclu- 
sively upon game for their meat, and Boone 
was the mighuest of all the hunters, so that 
upon him devolved the task of keeping his 
people supplied. He killed many buffaloes, 
and pickled the buffalo beef for use in winter. 
He killed great numbers of black bears, and 
made bacon of them, precisely as if they had 
been hogs. The common game were deer a>nd 
elk. At that time no Kentucky hunter would 
waste a shot on anything so small as a prairie- 
chicken or wild duck ; but they sometimes 
killed geese and swans when they came south 
in winter and lit on the rivers. 

But whenever Boone went through the woods 
after game, he had perpetually to keep watch 
lest he himself might be hunted in turn. He 
never lay in wait at a game-lick, save with ears 
strained to hear the approach of some crawling 
red foe. He never crept up to a turkey he 
heard calling, without exercising the utmost care 
to see that it was not an Indian ; for one of the 
devices of the Indians was to imitate the tur- 
key, and thus allure some inexperienced hunter. 

Besides this warfare, which went on in the 
midst of his usual vocations, Boone frequently 
took to the field on set expeditions against the 
savages. Once when he and a party of other men 
were making salt at a lick, they were surprised 
and carried off by the Indians. The old hunter 
was a prisoner with them for some months, but 
finally made his escape and came home through 
the trackless woods as straight as the wild 
pigeon flies. He was ever on the watch to 
ward off the Indian inroads, and to follow the 
war-parties and try to rescue the prisoners. 
Once his own daughter and two other girls 
who were with her were carried off by a band 
of Indians. Boone collected some friends and 
followed them steadily for two days and a 
night ; then they came to where the Indians 
had killed a buffalo calf and were camped. 
Firing from a little distance, they shot two 
Indians, and, rushing in, rescued the girls. 

On another occasion, when Boone had gone 
to visit a salt-lick with his brother, the Indians 
ambushed them and shot the latter. Boone 
himself escaped, but the Indians followed him 
for three miles by the aid of a tracking dog, 
until Boone turned, shot the dog, and then 
eluded his pursuers. In company with Simon 
Kenton and many other noted hunters and 
wilderness warriors, he once and again took 
part in perilous expeditions into the Indian 
country. Twice bands of Indians, accompanied 
by French, Tory, and British partizans from 
Detroit, bearing the flag of Great Britain, at- 
tacked Boonesborough. In each case Boone 
and his fellow-settlers beat them off with loss. 
At the fatal battle of the Blue Licks, in which 
two hundred of the best riflemen of Kentucky 
were beaten with terrible slaughter by a great 
force of Indians from the lakes, Boone com- 
manded the left wing. Leading his men, rifle 

i8 9 5-J 


60 1 

in hand, he pushed back 
and overthrew the force 
against him ; but mean- 
while the Indians de- 
stroyed the right wing 
and center, and got in 
the rear, so that there 
was nothing for Boone's 
men except to flee with 
all speed. 

As Kentucky became 
settled, Boone grew rest- 
less and ill at ease. He 
loved the wilderness ; he 
loved the great forests 
and the great prairie-like 
glades, and the life in 
the lonely little cabin, 
where he could see from 
the door the deer come 
out into the clearing at 
nightfall. The neighbor- 
hood of his own kind 
made him feel cramped 
and ill at ease. So he 
moved ever westward 
with the frontier; and 
as Kentucky filled up he 
crossed the Mississippi 
and settled on the bor- 
ders of the prairie country of Missouri, where State of Missouri, made him an alcalde, or 
the Spaniards, who in those early days still judge. He lived to a great age, and died out 
ruled the territory that has since become the on the border, a backwoods hunter to the last. 



{Fourteenth paper of tlie series on North American Quadrupeds.) 

By William T. Hornaday. 

The Squirrel Family. 

Number of species 

In the great Squirrel Family [Sd-u'ri-dce) there 

are many animals besides true squirrels; and 

in order to start fair with our subject, we must 

first know what they are. In this family, also, 

as well as those described in the previous paper, 

many new species have been discovered during 

the last ten years, and the following summary 

will show this as briefly as possible : 

* The Beaver is omitted here for the reason that St. Nicholas for June, 1893, contains an admi 
about him, by Mr. Tappan Adney, fully and finely illustrated. 

Vol. XXII.— 76. 

Flying Squirrels . 
Tree Squirrels . . 


Ground Squirrels 
Prairie Dogs .... 
Woodchucks ... 





New species 
added since. 




Present number. 
Feb. 1, 1895. 





rable paper 




the flying squirrel is such a graceful, big- 
, .,, . eyed and cunning lit- 

{Sci-ii-rop te-rits vol-u-cet la) J o 

tie sprite, that it always 
makes me think of an elf. The small boy does 
his coasting on a snowy hillside, the otter does 
his on a steep bank of snow, or of mud, but 
this exquisite little creature actually goes coast- 
ing in mid-air ! More than that, he enjoys it 
hugely, and in groves where Flying Squirrels 
are numerous, dozens have been seen at night- 
tall pursuing this sport together. 

Of course the Flying Squirrel has no wings, 
and he does not really rise and fly ; but good 
Mother Nature has kindly given him a wide 
fringe of skin running nearly all the way around 
his body, which forms a very perfect parachute. 
When he leaps from his tree-top into the air, 
and spreads himself, his parachute and his 
broad, flat tail enable him to float down easily 
and gracefully, in a slanting direction, until he 
alights low down on the trunk of a tree perhaps 
fifty or even one hundred feet distant. Then 
he clambers nimbly up to its top, chooses his 
direction, and launches forth again, quite pos- 
sibly to the same tree from which he started. 
His flight is simply a sailing downward at an 


angle of about forty-five degrees, with a grace- 
ful sweep upward at the last, to enable him to 
alight easily. 

The Flying Squirrel is only a trifle over nine 
inches in length " over all," of which the tail is 
about four; and, even when it is fully flattened 
out and spread for sailing, it can be almost 
covered by a page of St. Nicholas. They 
are very sociable in their habits, and nest in 
hollow trees, where there are from five to seven 
young in each family. Sometimes when the 
children have grown so large as to fill the nest 
uncomfortably full, the old ones are literally 
crowded outdoors ; and around the city of 
Washington they frequently build summer nests 
for themselves close by the oak-tree home. 

Of the Tree Squirrels (genus Sci-icrus) there 
are fifty-seven species and subspecies; but 
there are not so many individuals that any boy 
or man can go out with a nasty old shot-gun 
and kill a dozen of them in one day without 
being guilty of pot-hunting and murder. I 
have known men to boast of having " bagged" 
twenty-eight, thirty-six, and even forty squirrels 
in one day, — as if they had done a thing to be 
proud of ! Proud of what ? Of waging elab- 
orate and scientific war- 
fare on the easiest of all 
" game " to kill. 



{Scz-u'rus Car-o-li-ncn' 'sis 

In the East the Nor- 
thern Gray Squir- 
rel is the commonest 
species, and that which 
is most widely known 
There is no need to 
describe it here; but 
when you come to de- 
scribe its nesting habits, 
beware of making as- 
sertions as to what it 
does not do. In Wash- 
ington I once heard a 
lively three-cornered 
dispute on this subject, 
which was quite in- 
structive. One boy 

i8 95 .. 



asserted that the Gray 
Squirrel nests in hollow 
trees, beech or oak 
preferred. Another de- 
clared that in summer 
it builds a nest of green 
leaves, for summer use 
only. A third con- 
tended that the summer 
nest is built of bark 
strippings from cedar- 
trees, made into a big, 
round ball. Within a 
month we collected, 
within ten miles of 
the National Museum, 
three fine nests which 
proved that all three 
of the disputants were 
right ! Moral : Never 
base a general statement on insufficient facts. 

The strangest fact about the Northern Gray 
Squirrel is its extreme variability in color. Na- 
ture seems to have determined that this crea- 
ture should violate every known law of color- 
marking in animals. In a fairly large collection 
of skins, you may find perhaps twenty which 
will show twenty distinct gradations, from the 
typical whitish-gray to jet black ! 

This species inhabits the entire northeast 
quarter of the United States, from the Mis- 
souri River to Washington, D. C, and south- 
ern Canada. It prefers hard-wood forests where 
nuts are abundant, is very social and playful 
in its habits, and no longer exists anywhere 
in sufficient numbers to do harm to the farmer. 
During the last century, and even as late as 
the year 1819, Northern Gray Squirrels were 
so numerous that they occasionally collected 
in immense numbers, and indulged in a grand 
migration, usually eastward or southward, de- 
vouring so much corn and wheat en route that 
the farmers always killed as many of them as 
possible. In 1819 Audubon encountered an 
army of these squirrels swimming the Ohio 
River about one hundred miles below Cincin- 
nati. Now, however, their numbers are too 
few to make up such excursions, and their wits 
are taxed to the utmost to live snugly at home 
without being shot. I have kept many of these 


(Sci-it rus Car-o-li-nen' sis Car-o-li-nc?£ sis') 

squirrels as pets ; but outside a good stout 
cage I never liked them very much. They are 
too nervous and irritable, too ready to bite or 
scratch, and far too ready to gnaw things that 
in your opinion do not need to be gnawed. 
The place for a squirrel is a grove, and in my 
opinion no grove can be called complete with- 
out a good big family of them. 


brother of 
the preced- 
ing species, but brownish-yellow on the back 
instead of whitish-gray, and a little smaller in 
size. Its range begins where the other leaves 
off, and extends throughout the Southern States 
into Mexico ; but members of this species 
scorn to show the black color-phases so com- 
mon in the North. 

All three varieties of the big Fox Squirrel 

were named after the red fox; 
fox squirrel. butj sad tQ sa y ; so far as color 

{Sci-u'riis ni'ger.) . , . r 

is concerned, almost any fox 
except the blue one might have stood as god- 
father. In the matter of color variations, the 
Gray Squirrel is bad enough, surely; but as a 
turncoat the Fox Squirrel is positively awful. 
Probably no two naturalists could write inde- 
pendent descriptions of the standard color of 
this species, and have them agree. 

The Fox Squirrel is large and stoutly built, 




and its hair is coarse and rather harsh. The 
color of a typical specimen of the Western 
variety is a mixture of dark red, black, and 
white on the back, and cinnamon-brown under- 
neath. The type of the variety known as the 
Southern Fox Squirrel is much paler, and 
more inclined to be gray and white. But the 
color variations of both varieties of the Fox 
Squirrel are most bewildering. When Audubon 
and Bachman encountered this harlequin, the 
varieties of tint in different specimens were so 
great that among fifty or more skins they could 


not find two exactly alike ; and so in their plate 
they thought it necessary to reproduce three, 
" an orange-colored one, a gray one, and one 
nearly black " ! 

The three varieties of this species — of which 
the Northern Fox Squirrel is the third — 
inhabit the whole of the central, eastern, and 
southern United States, and it not infrequently 
happens that two sharply contrasted colors are 
found in the same family. 

In California the big California Gray 

Squirrel seems 
California gray squirrel. t0 ^ e Eastern 

(Sci-u'nts fos'sor.) ,., , . 

man like a big, 
overgrown Northern Gray Squirrel. In Ari- 
zona and New Mexico the pert-looking and 
very pretty Abert's Squirrel looks like the 

same creature with the 
abert's squirrel. addition Qf a fine> sh 

\Sci-u'rus A'bert-i.) 

tuft of hair rising above 
each ear, an ornament by which this species 
can be recognized anywhere at sight. 

the red squirrel, has always seemed to me 
or chickaree a sor t f connecting link 
'■ between the foregoing 
tree-squirrels and the chipmunks. Although 
a true tree-squirrel, and a very active climber, 
he spends quite a large portion of his life 
upon the ground, and loves a rail-fence almost 
as dearly as does a chipmunk. Not only that: 
when the upper floors of his tree are all occu- 
pied, he blithely makes his nest under its 
roots until some third-floor lodger moves out. 
Oftener, however, he builds a big round nest, 
of the soft, fibrous bark 
of the cedar, in the 
top of a sapling, thirty 
or forty feet from the 
ground. In the Amer- 
ican Museum at New 
York you may see a 
beautiful group, the 
work of the late Jenness 
Richardson, showing a 
family of Red Squirrels 
and its nest, which is 
in the top of a honey- 
locust tree, and partly 
hidden by the leaves 
of a Virginia creeper. 
The cunning little Red Squirrel is one third 
smaller than the northern gray, but twice as 
saucy and interesting. It inhabits the north- 
eastern quarter of the United States, and south- 
ern Canada, and finds its way even as far north 
as Alaska. It is most abundant, however, in 
the Middle States and New England. In Cali- 
fornia it is represented by a subspecies, larger 
than itself, called Douglas's Squirrel, or 
Pine Squirrel, which is found everywhere in 

the forests of giant 

Douglas's squirrel, or pinesandsprucesof 

pine squirrel. the gierra Neyada 

[Sci-u'nts Hitd-so 'ni-us Dong'las-i.) . . T . 

mountains. John 
Muir declares the Pine Squirrel to be the 
most interesting of all Califomian squirrels, and 
he asserts that it surpasses all others in force 
of character, numbers, extent of range, and 

Next below the tree-squirrels come the Chip- 
munks, of which our dear little friend of the 
rail-fence, the Common Chipmunk, is the type. 

i8 95 .J 



{Tam'i-as slri-a'ius.) 

You all know 
him well — the 
little midget 
who suddenly flashes ahead of you 
upon the fence-rails as you pass along 
a country road. If you stop to look 
at him, he will return the compliment, 
and keep as still as a stuffed squirrel 
so long as you care to watch him. 
When you thoroughly alarm him, 
however, chain-lightning is not 
much quicker in its movements than 
he. His home is generally under 
the roots of a tree, but a crevice 
among rocks is also quite good 
enough. He is too small to be killed 
for food (so the pot-hunters think), 
what he eats is never missed, and so 
he survives in places where all the 
tree-squirrels have been either killed 
or driven away. There are a num- 
ber of subspecies of this type scat- 
tered throughout temperate North 
America, in nearly all the timbered 
regions, and in many of the desert regions also. 

Leaving all 

the tree- 


very earth 
the ground 
bodied and close- 
hither and thither 
prairies of the 


rels be- 
and fairly 
ing to the 
we find first 
squirrels, long- 
haired, scurrying 
over the barren 
West, and living 

abert's squirrel, (see page 604.) 

in holes in the ground. Some are gray, but the 
bodies of many of them are gorgeously striped 
with yellow and black stripes, and lines of dots. 
When you see a yellowish-brown streak dart 
across a prairie or a meadow, and, stopping 
suddenly, assume the form and fixedness of a 
tent-peg a foot high, you may conclude that 
the creature you have seen is a ground squirrel 
and a spermophile. 

The most familiar form of this group is a lit- 
tle fellow whose Latin name is almost as long 
as himself — the Striped Spermophile, of the 
central United States. 
striped spermophile. The last mout hf u i f 

his Latin name means 
" thirteen-lined." Of 
the thirty species in this group, or genus, sev- 
eral are so destructive to growing grain that they 
have been made the subject of an elaborate re- 
port to the Commissioner of Agriculture by 
Mr. Vernon Bailey, of Dr. Merriam's Bureau of 
Ornithology and Mammalogy. 

Less active and daring, but more sociable in 
his habits, and far more interesting in disposi- 
tion, is our old friend of the plains, the Prairie 
Dog. He is about as much like a dog as he 

(Sper-mopli i-lus iri-de'cem- 




is like an elephant, — he 

PRAIRIE DOG. has four j and he 

{Cy'iio-mys lu-do-vi-ci-ari us.) . 

can t climb a tree, — and 
although he is a jolly little fat-paunched, stub- 
tailed Prairie Marmot, his name will be Prai- 
rie Dog to the end 
of his chapter. He 
always lives " in 
town," and gener- 
ally owns a lot 
about thirty feet 
square, free of all 
encumbrances, and 
bare as a brick- 
yard. Like the 
Brahmins of India, 
he welcomes you no farther than his front door, 
and I have yet to see a man who has beheld the 
interior of his bedchamber. I once tried to lay 
bare the inner secrets of a Prairie Dog's domi- 
cile; but after digging down six feet or more, we 
took soundings, found " no bottom," and threw 
up the contract. Plainsmen say this creature 
burrows down until he strikes water; and if 
they should say that he finally strikes fire also, 
I would not dispute it. 

I have seen some Prairie Dog towns that I 
thought of vast extent; but one which was de- 
scribed to me by Mr. Arthur B. Baker, of the 


Washington " Zoo," is the largest on record, 
so far as I know. It begins in Trego County, 
Kansas, five miles west of the hundredth meri- 
dian, and extends along a divide north of the 
Smoky Hill River, practically without a break, 
into Colorado, a total distance of about one 
hundred miles ! The town varies in width from 
half a mile to five miles, and on the top of the 
divide the nearest water is 350 feet below the 
surface! Do the "dogs" burrow down to that 
water ? Hardly. 

Last of the Squirrel Family, and least like 
a squirrel, is our neighbor of the " stump lot," 
the Woodchuck, or Ground Hog. He may 
look stupid, and even act so 
upon occasion; but for all that 
he is a wise animal. He knows 
enough to live chiefly upon clover and grass 
and let the farmer's grain and vegetables care- 
fully alone, — for which consideration the farmer 
tolerates his presence in his meadows. While 
a pair of red squirrels will sometimes store up a 
bushel and a half of nuts for winter use, the 
Woodchuck stores up nothing save a plentiful 
supply of fat under his skin, and, with that to 
draw upon, he blithely goes to sleep in his bur- 
row about the first of November, and sleeps 
soundly until March. 

With the slaughter of foxes and large birds 

(A rc-to' mys mo'tiax.) 





of prey, the Woodchucks in- 
crease in number. In Orleans 
County, New York, the father 
of my young friend Mason L. 
Davis owns a farm on which is 
a "stump lot" that is literally 
swarming with Woodchucks. 
In 1894 Mason and his brother 
shot over one hundred of them. 
Were those animals to breed 
unchecked, they would soon 
be in absolute possession of 
the entire farm. 

Did you ever see or hear of 
an animal called the Sewellel? 
Unless you live on the Pacific 

Coast, the 

chances are 

you will be 
obliged to say " No." Then let me introduce a 
stranger from the very far West. He lives in 
only a few places in some of the mountains of 
northern California, Oregon, Washington, and 
southern British Columbia, and his names are 
many. Besides the one above, he is also called 
the Mountain Beaver, and Showt'l. 

He looks like a tailless muskrat, feeds like a 
beaver, fights like a little fiend when brought 


\A p-lo-don' tz-a rn'/lts.) 


to bay, is sociable in habit like the prairie 
dog, can climb bushes four feet high, and is the 
only mammal known to me that really prefers 
to burrow in wet, boggy ground. The Sewellel 

is so different 
from all other 
creatures that 
the two species 
now known oc- 
cupy a family 
all by them- 
selves. The 
Nisqually In- 
dians say it was 
the first animal 
created. The 
larger of the two species measures sixteen inches 
in length, and weighs four pounds. 

This strange creature was discovered by 
Lewis and Clark in 1814. Its life history and 
character remained but little known, even to 
naturalists, until 1885. In that year Dr. C. 
Hart Merriam instigated a search for it, which 
resulted in the capture of a fine series of speci- 
mens in Placer County, California. 




A happy Maytime to you, my hearers ! In a 
few weeks you '11 have the month of roses, yet the 
world is at its fairest now, to those who love the 
early wild-flowers — but you must find them for 
yourselves, and I know you will. No need of de- 
scribing them to you, my children ; already you 
have had handfuls of them, and more are to come : 
arbutus, that began its delicate pink blooming 
under the very snow ; anemones, wild azaleas, 
bright-red columbine; violets, tall and yellow; vio- 
lets, white and low; violets, blue and timid, hiding 
among the dried leaves of last year — and then the 
quaint purple-red wake-robin, that in spite of its 
name is apt to sleep until after the robins are wide- 
awake and busy. May is themonth of young bloom, 
— overhead, in the trees, underfoot, in the mold, by 
brooks, in crannies, and up and down the hillsides ; 
and every tiny leaf, every smallest growing thing, 
is worthy of study and of love. 

" All 's right with the world ! " 

sang the poet long ago, my children and you can 
sing it as well to-day. 

It is too soon to gather fern-seed ; but before 
long there '11 be plenty. You must know just where 
to look for it, though, even after you have found 
the fern. I know of one young girl who found a 
good deal last season, and this is the story she told 
about it, given you in verse by Agnes L. Mitchill. 


If you gather all the fern-seed, — 

The little green fern-seed, — 
And put it in your shoe, so they say, 

You can see a thousand things. 

You can fly, too, without wings, 
And nobody can see you on your way. 

So I hunted for the fern-seed, — 

The little green fern-seed, — 
And I filled up all the space in my shoe ; 

Then I hurried home to try 

If they 'd know that it was I. 
And the first thing mother said was 
" Here is Lou ! " 


The ferns in my meadow are uncurling their 
pretty fronds, and soon the delicate leaves will wave 
their tender green. But they never can be very 
tall, — certainly not so tall as the ferns that a little 
Honolulu friend of mine describes. She says the 
stems were thicker than her papa's thumbs, and 
they towered away up over his head. Now, who 
among you have seen ferns as tall as these, sup- 
posing this Sandwicli Island papa to be about six 
feet high in his boots? 

HERE comes a bright little bit of live grammar 
straight to this pulpit. It was written for the Little 
Schoolma'am by my eleven-year-old friend Anna 


I 'M a little pronoun. My names are who, 
whose, whom. 

When I do anything, people call me WHO. 
When I own something, people call me WHOSE. 
When somebody does something to me, I am 
called whom. 

If you see me, you may be pretty sure there is a 
noun somewhere around. 

I 'm not just a common pronoun : I 'm a rela- 
tive pronoun. All pronouns cannot have people 
with them constantly, as I can. 

Sometimes I 'd like to be by myself, as my cousin 
/(who is a personal pronoun) can be. 

I go with a very select set of nouns. They all 
tell about people, not mere things. 

Sometimes ignorant people put me with those 
ordinary nouns that mean only things. But it is 
better not to do so, as I belong to persons only, not 
to things. 

To think of it ! I can go with even those very 
stuck-up proper nouns. 

The noun I go with is called my antecedent. 

I would give you a few sentences, and see if you 
could find me in them ; but it is much better to let 
you make some for yourselves : only be sure not to 
put me with those nouns that mean only things. 


A POOR little girl in the Red School-house has 
Onychophagia ! 

No, she will not die of it; but she must be cured 
pretty soon, the family say. The English name 
of her serious complaint, or habit, is nail-biting. 
Yes, the dear child bites her nails, and her poor 
little stubby fingers are getting very tired indeed 
of Onychophagia — so are her teeth. But she en- 
joys it, or thinks she does, poor child ! 

i8 9 s-; 




Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: In the April St. Nich- 
olas you showed your young friends some " Reflections 
of a Cat," sent by Amy G. One of these feline thoughts 
was, " No one but a cat knows how we always manage to 
land on our feet.' 1 '' If the cat's opinion was correctly re- 
ported, the cat was behind the times. 

From a traveled Puss in Boots I learn that the French 
Academy of Sciences has lately given much time to this 
puzzle, and a certain M. Marey claims to have solved 
it. The camera was used to find out how 
cats turn while falling. A cat was held 
three or four feet from the floor, back 
downward, and dropped. During the 
fall the camera was arranged to take 
fourteen pictures of the moving cat. 

The photographs proved that the cat 
first put its fore legs down toward its 
body, and then brought them around 
toward the ground — using the rear half 
of the body to give the resistance. Then, 
being half over, the hind legs and tail 
were revolved, while the fore part of the 
body served in turn as resistance, thus 
bringing all four legs undermost. 

The wise men are still disputing about 
the question, but the silent camera has by 
far the best of the argument. 

I send you a diagram, drawn after the 

I am one of your older readers, and 
the father of two " little folks " who en- 
joy St. Nicholas. J. T. 

I thank you very much, J. T., 
and do not see how any cat after 
this can accuse mankind of not 
having looked into the cat-landing problem. Dea- 
con Green says the solution reminds him some- 
what of an experiment sometimes attempted by 
small boys — -namely, lifting one's self by one's own 
ears; but then, the Deacon is not strictly scientific. 
Besides, there are the photographs. 


Here is a letter which claims to come from a 
Persian cat ; and surely no American cat could 
have written it. The dear Little Schoolma'am 
tells me that this legend of Ali is known in Persia, 
and that to this day all the cats of that country 
always land upon their four feet in falling: 

To THE Jack-of-the-Pulpit — Great Teacher: I 
hope that you the English will pardon of this from one 
who know only the wisdom of the East, lacking the 
knowledge of arts in the West. But I have the St. 
Nicholas seen of April — our month Ramadan — that 
tells of the cat, how he fall ever on feet. And say I my- 
self, " Why do not the Moslem tell their legend ? " So I 
write you how that Omar had envy of Ali, successor of 
our Prophet, and would show him in error. Omar, tak- 
ing in hand one bit of wheat, spake thus to Ali, saying, 
" Tell me, shall this be now food for me ? " Then speaks 
Ali, in trust that he will overcome Omar, " No. Thou 
cannot have food of it." Then Omar made to swallow 
the bit of wheat, but it fell down even to the floor. The 


cat of Ali made a jump and did catch the wheat, like as 
a mouse, and made a swallow of it. So Omar went con- 
fused away, and to the cat of the true faith Ali in thanks- 
granted a gift that forever it should not fall but on feet. 
And thus it rests as Ali willed it, not in Persia by itself, 
but the world around. 

And this, a true account for the faithful, do we ever 
make to be known to our kittens, little ones. 
In the name of the Prophet, peace. 

A Cat of Persia. 


St. Louis, Mo. 

Dear Jack-in'-the-Pulpit : I lately read in our 
Globe-Democrat a true account of some birds, told by Os- 
wald Grafton ; and as it proves that birds sometimes 
may be really charitable, I copied the story for you and 
your congregation. Here it is: 

"A pair of robins had their nests in the fence near 
the house, while a pair of catbirds had built theirs in a 
bush close by. The two pairs hatched out their young 
at about the same time ; but soon the robins disappeared 
entirely, and I concluded they had been killed. The 
young robins appeared to be starving. When the cat- 
birds came with a bit of food for their young, the baby 
robins would thrust up their heads and make a great 
noise. Presently it was noticed that the catbirds were 
feeding the hungry orphans. Every night, too, while 
one of the catbirds covered its own young, its mate per- 
formed the same service for the young robins. In this 
way both broods were reared, the robins growing up as 
strong and lively as though they had been cared for by 
their own parents." Yours truly, Dorothy J . 


The Little Schoolma'am informs me that Pro- 
fessor Hornaday is telling you about squirrels this 
month. Well, we '11 have a little overflow meet- 
ing out here. Here is a true squirrel story told in 
a letter that has just been brought by my birds : 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: One day, not long ago, I 
was walking in Central Park, and as I came down a cer- 
tain path I saw several squirrels playing on the grass. 
Another one was quite by himself, lying at full length 
on one of the highest branches of a tali oak-tree; and 
from what happened soon after, I think that he was ex- 
pecting a friend. 

Presently I saw a gentleman come down the path, 
stop at the foot of the tree, look up, and call, "Come 1 
Come ! Here I am ! " 

The squirrel seemed to have been waiting for this 
voice, for at the first sound he ran quickly down the tree 
to the lowest branch, gave one flying leap, and landed 
on the gentleman's shoulder. 

" Will you have your dinner now ? " he asked. 

The squirrel answered in his own language, which I do 
not understand. I suppose he said, " Yes, thank you," 
for the gentleman put his hand into his pocket and drew 
out a nut from which he took the shell; then, turning 
his head toward the squirrel, he fed him the kernel — 
the gentleman holding it between his lips. 

It was a pretty sight to see the squirrel put his little 
head close to the face of the gentleman. After watching 
him eat a few nuts I walked on (as the dinner promised 
to be a long one), leaving two very happy friends under 
the big oak-tree. Yours truly, M. B. M. 

Vol. XXII.— 77. 


By Garrett Newkirk. 

^, l--— 


Oh, wonderful river Wisconsin ! 

How lovely are your dells; 
Oh, beautiful State of Wisconsin ! 

How good are your springs and wells. 

How lovely the breezes that fan you 
The glorious summer through, 

From woods sweet-scented with balsam, 
That shadow your lakes so blue. 

- Of cities you have Milwaukee, 
Along Lake Michigan shore, 
<\L_\; ~3- And Madison, named in honor 


Of" president number four. 


'the badger state. 



The river brought the Indians 

From prairies of Dakota; 

o cloudy seemed the water, 

They called it " Minnesota 

ow together are the cities 
Minneapolis and St. Paul, 
By the River and the Rap 
And the "Laughing W; 

U The mills in Minnesota 
Are running every hou 
Sawing and planing luml> 
And grinding wheat to 

The air of Minnesota 
Is fairly cool and dry 

"t Though wide awake the St, 
It has a Sleepy Eye. 


' Turbid water " is the meaning of the Indian name " Minnesota. 


New York, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am eleven years old, and I 
have studied the different wild birds for four years, and 
find them very interesting, indeed. In May, 1894, I had 
a very nice time watching a pair of house-wrens ( Troglo- 
dytes aedoti). It was very interesting to watch them build 
their ne.-.t. After working a little while, they would both 
come down on the fence and sing for about five minutes, 
and then go to work again. They were very tame; I 
could stand within fifteen feet, and they did not mind it 
at all. I find all birds very entertaining to watch and to 
study. I like St. Nicholas very much. 

Yours sincerely, Edmund R. P. J . 

Newark, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas : An amusing scene occurred in 
a trolley-car in a suburban part of Newark, on a stormy 
night of last winter. There were only two men in the 
car. Presently one of them opened a large bundle which 
he held, and took out a link sausage. Then he took out 
his jack-knife, and stuck the sausage on it. Then he 
opened the door of the little stove on the seat of the car, 
and cooked the sausage at the fire and ate it. 

This is a true story, for the other man in the car was 
my uncle, and he told this to me. 

Florence E. D . 

East Haddam, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am ten years old, and I live in 
the picturesque village of East Haddam, which is situated 
on the banks of the Connecticut River. 

The article which was in one of your numbers about 
Nathan Hale reminds me of the house in this town 
which is famed for its historical associations. It is a 
small, weather-beaten house where Nathan Hale used 
to teach school. It is now occupied by an old woman 
nearly one hundred years of age, who has lived there 
ever since she was a year and a half old. It has been 
removed from the little school-yard where it stood when 
the brave soldier taught in it, and an addition has been 
built on to it. 

One summer evening I was passing by the house, and 
the door facing the street stood open, and I crossed the 
threshold which had been crossed so many times by the 
British soldier in the days long since passed by. 

I would like to tell your boy and girl readers about 
my Literature Album. Mama selects pictures of noted 
men and women from different papers and magazines 
and pastes them in a large scrap-book. Mama cut pic- 
tures of Emerson, Bryant, and Tennyson from late num- 
bers of your magazine and put them in the album. I 
also have pictures of Charles Dickens and his wife, Mr. 
and Mrs. Bayard Taylor, Edison, Louise Chandler Moul- 
ton, Lady Henry Somerset, Frances E. Willard, and 
many others, and a few selected poems and stories. 

The window where I am writing looks up the river 
toward Hartford. 

It is a beautiful view in summer, but in winter the ice 
and snow have a dreary look. 

Across the river, behind the hills, the sun has just set, 
flooding the water with crimson and gold, and making it 
seem like fairyland. 

Your devoted reader, LuciLE V. R . 

Hacienda Hornos, Coahuila, Mexico. 

My dear St. Nicholas: Since I wrote to you last, our 
family has moved from Vera Cruz to my mother's cotton- 
plantation in southern Coahuila. I have n't even seen 
half of it, for it contains 173 square leagues. There are 
about twenty different ranches, each with its majordomo. 
We live in the principal one, which is called "Hornos"; 
this means " ovens " in English, and they say it is a very 
appropriate name in April and May, for it is then ex- 
ceedingly warm. 

I miss my home by the sea, but am very contented 
here. My brothers and I study at home. We have 
three teachers. For amusement we go horseback-riding 
to the different ranches, and we play tennis, cricket, and 
croquet. Each has his own garden. In the summer 
we shall have quantities of grapes, figs, pomegranates, 
watermelons, and muskmelons. 

Your devoted friend, C. M . 

Toronto, Ont. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you for three 
years, and are very fond of you. I don't know what 
we 'd do without you at all. I am a little girl twelve 
years old, and the oldest child in our family. I have 
two sisters and one brother. We children, with two boy 
cousins of ours, have a family monthly paper, of which I 
am the editor. I can tell you it keeps me pretty busy. 
It contains stories, poetry, riddles, jokes, advertisements, 
notices, etc. We all enjoy " Chris and the Wonderful 
Lamp " very much, and read it at the table when St. 
Nicholas comes. Your affectionate reader, 

Isabel R. McC . 

Waterford, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : You have been in our family 
so long, you are like a dear old friend, a/ways welcome. 
A few days ago I chanced to notice the date of our first 
bound volume, 1874 — twenty years ago. The date in- 
stantly recalled a picture of three little girls — Anna, 
May, and baby Adele (who used to say, "Mama, 1 do 
think Palmer Cox nice to make such funny little * Brown- 
ies'") — bending over the pages of St. Nicholas, ad- 
miring the beautiful pictures, reading and chatting about 
the bright, interesting stories. 

" Jack and Jill," " Donald and Dorothy," " Little Lord 
Fauntleroy," "Lady Jane," "Polly Oliver," and a host 
of others, have become household names in our family. 

Later, when school-girls, the three would often look 
over the bound volumes for something they had read 
years before. Many times have I heard May exclaim : 
" Why, mama, what should I do without St. Nicholas? 
It helps me so much in my history and literature." Now, 
two little grandchildren, Ammie and Earl, are learning 
to love "Dear St. Nick." We were all greatly inter- 
ested in the stirring story of " Decatur and Somers." 

Your July number was splendid; I hope you will give 
us more like it, that our young sons and daughters of 
these United States of America may understand the true 
meaning of Abraham Lincoln's immortal words: "That 
this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free- 
dom ; and that government of the people, by the people, 
for the people, shall not perish from the earth." 

A Mother. 



Enfield, Hants County, N. S. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I don't take you. You are sent 
to me; but I like you just the same. Maybe some of the 
readers would like to hear from the Land of Evangeline. 
A great many people come from the United States every 
year to visit the scene of Longfellow's famous poem 
"Evangeline." It is a beautiful country. One can still see 
the old French cellars and dikes, also the old elms and 
willows planted so long ago. I have heard that a cane 
made from one of these old trees was presented to Long- 
fellow. Mama told me that the children used to bring 
apples from the old orchards to school. Maybe you will 
think the English cruel in driving the French from their 
homes, but it was the best they could do under the cir- 
cumstances. The French kept encouraging the Indians 
in acts of outrage against the English. We live quite 
handy to the Shubenacadie River; in summer we have 
fun bathing in the river. The name Shubenacadie means 
abounding in ground-nuts. Good-by. 

Your reader, Roland McN . 

brother, though only six years old, likes " Chris and the 
Wonderful Lamp"; but I will stop because now I think 
you will know more about Puget Sound. 

Your sincere friend, Tremain H . 

Billings, Mon. 

Dear St. Nicholas : lama little girl fourteen years 

My cousin Eleanor, who resided in College Point, 
Long Island, sent all her St. Nicholas magazines to 
me, from 1S86 to 1S90. She left for London, England. 

I have read your bound volumes during a year, and 
have already come to the January, '95, number. I think 
it is just the best book out. 

I live three thousand miles from New York, right in 
Montana, amid sage-brush, prairie-dogs, and mountains. 

Yesterday a man brought twelve coyotes to town to 
get bounty, fifty cents each ; they looked as if they had 
come from a museum. 

I have a little pony called "Dolly." Last summer 
Dolly took me to Dayton, Wyoming, and back, 150 miles 
each way. I stopped overnight with my father at Indian 
houses. My pony goes seven miles an hour, but loves 
to go five miles, and delights to walk two miles an hour, 
if I will let him. Respectfully, Amy H . 

Olympia, Wash. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little Western boy ten 
years old, and live on Puget Sound, in Olympia, the 
capital. You Eastern people do not realize what Puget 
Sound is. You might think that it is only as large as 
Long Island Sound. And you might think there are no 
islands in it, but it is so dotted up with them that it is 
sometimes called the " Mediterranean of America. " There 
is one island seventy miles long in it. Last summer we 
camped on Fidalgo Island, where my little brother and I 
used to catch large crabs and cook them on the beach, 
then eat them. We used to go sailing very often, be- 
cause there were two sail-boats right in front of the house 
we camped in. It was an old hotel with twenty-seven 
rooms. The West is not all cities — the way it is where 
you are published. We have some very valuable cedar- 
trees growing all along the shores. We have just had 
the large State seal brought to Olympia; it is eight feet 
square, and is made of pieces of wood that grow in Wash- 
ington. We have very good fishing here, and now smelt 
are so thick that men cut a long pole and drive nails 
through it, and just rake them out. I like halibut the 
best — a very large, fiat fish that weighs sometimes one 
hundred pounds. We have good salmon also; and we 
spear salmon. We have a friend visiting us now from 
Portland, Oregon, and she said that a Chinaman speared 
a salmon on First and Salmon streets at the time of the 
flood. I have taken you four years, and am always glad 
when the mailman brings another number. My little 

No. 38, Tsukiji, Tokio, Japan. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This is the second time that I 
have written to your splendid magazine. 

I have lived my life of thirteen years in Japan, except 
two years which I spent in the United States, between 
my fourth and seventh birthdays. 

We have very good times in Japan, on the whole. 

There are about twenty American boys in Tsukiji, over 
ten years old and under eighteen; all of us (except four) 
go to the Tsukiji school, which has four teachers — one 
American, two English, and one German. 

At this school I study Latin, Creek, English Litera- 
ture, Geometry, Physiography, Arithmetic, Algebra, Eng- 
lish History, Universal History, and Ancient History. 

Japan and China, as you no doubt know, are at war, 
and the Japanese have won several great victories. 

The cities Seoul, Asan, Phyong-yang, and Pingyang 
have been captured from the Chinese in Corea, and 
Port Arthur in China. A naval victory has been won 
off the Yalu River. 

Port Arthur is a seaport, and its loss will be a heavy 
one to China, since it contains the only clock in China in 
which a large man-of-war can be repaired after being 
injured in a fight. 

The Japanese do not call the city " Port Arthur," but 
" Riojuncon." The Japanese talk of it as the " Gibraltar 
of Japan." 

The Yalu River is the boundary-line between China 
and Corea. 

The Japanese fleet, consisting of eleven cruisers, and 
commanded by Admiral Ito, was cruising around the 
mouth of the river when the Chinese fleet, commanded 
by Admiral Ting, and consisting of eleven cruisers and 
two battle-ships, came up, and a battle ensued. 

Four of the Chinese ships were sunk, and the rest 
more or less severely injured. 

Most of the Japanese ships sustained slight injuries, 
but none were lost. 

The Japanese won through superior skill and bravery. 

Hoping that you will print this letter, I am 

Your interested reader, John C. MacK . 

Miakka River, Fla. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Perhaps you would like to hear 
from a girl who spends her winters in Florida. At 
present we are at anchor on this river, for which our 
boat is named. There is no habitation within a long 
distance of us, although there are two empty houses on 
the bank, and we rowed over to see them this morning. 
One of them had an alligator's skin nailed up on the 
side of it. 

Our boat is a naphtha yacht, made for cruising in these 
waters. At present she is rocking considerably, but a 
true sailor prefers some motion to a quiet sea. We are 
within a few miles of the Gulf of Mexico, and must 
expect some rough water. 

It is very warm here, although we have some cool 
weather, just the same as Northerners have cold winds 
during their summer months. 

The place where we are, when not boating, is as far 
south as one can go by rail on the west coast of Florida ; 
but one can go by steamer to several other places farther 

I have your delightful magazine every month, even in 
this far-off place. Ever your devoted reader, 

Eleanor H. D . 



St. Helena, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have never seen a letter in 
your " Letter-box " from this part of the United States, 
so I thought I would write you one. The climate here is 
very warm in the summer, and not very cold in the win- 
ter. We seldom have snow in the valley, but we see it 
every year on the mountains. In the springtime the 
country around us is lovely, we have so many varieties of 
wild flowers, and everything is fresh and green. 

Two years ago we went down to Pacific Grove, which 
is a small town on the sea-shore near Monterey. We 
stayed three months, and had a lovely time. We had 
lots of fun going in waling and bathing in the surf, and 
having picnics. We saw several whales while there; 
they would come up in the bay, quite close to the shore, 
and once one jumped up out of the water. 

There is a beautiful drive there which is eighteen miles 
long. It winds in and out among the woods, and nearly all 
of it is along the ocean. We went around it and stayed 
all day. A great many seals live on some rocks which 
are quite near the drive in the edge of the ocean. They 
are always barking or fighting, and are very inquisitive. 
Sometimes they will come close to the edge of the beach, 
to see something that looks strange to them. 

There is also a place called Point Lobos, and part of it 
was once a volcano. It is of a very peculiar formation, 
and is so hard that even a small rock cannot be broken 
off without great difficulty. The place where the crater 
was is now on the level with the ocean, and forms a 
pretty little bay. It is thought that at one time there 
was a great eruption there, which caused the change. 

There is a large mountain near us, which was also a 
volcano, but is now extinct. 

Your sincere friend, Lucia S . 

Granite, Mont. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for nearly 
five years, bat have never written you a line. 

I live in Montana in a little town called Granite, and 
it is well named, as granite is about the only kind of rock 
one finds here. It is a very nice place to live during 
the summer-time, but it is dreary enough in winter. 
There is about three feet and a half of snow here now, 
with promise of more to come. I have a pair of Norwe- 
gian snowshoes, or"skees," and have great fun riding 
on them. I use a pole with a spike in one end, and go 
flying down the hillsides. I have a dog called " Snyder," 
who often follows me on my snowshoeing trips. 

I must close now ; so, wishing you a long life, 
I remain your reader, A. Neil C — 

Alexandria, Va. 
Dear St. Nicholas. Our papa has taken you for a 
long time, nearly ever since you began. We love your 
stories, and look forward every month to your coming. 
We go to Christ Church, where Washington used to go, 
and sometimes we go down to Mount Vernon on the 
electric cars. In the park there are live deer, and they 
will eat out of your hand. Once we gave them some 
crackers. We belong to the Band of Mercy for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. We have a little 
kitty and we call it "Tiger," on account of the stripes on 
its back. We go to the Capitol sometimes in Washing- 
ton, and to the National Museum, where there are many 
wonderful and curious sights. 

We remain your loving readers, 

Dennis and Douglas R . 

Valencia, Spain. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In February, 1891, you speak 
of some queer dwellings people in South America have, 
and show us a picture of a Glyptodon's armor. The other 
day my papa took me to see three or four very fine 
shells, heads, and queer tails of the prehistoric arma- 
dillo. A rich man, who had lived many years in South 
America, made a present of these to his native city, Va- 
lencia. You can imagine how glad I was to see and 
recognize these immense dwelling-shells from your 
drawing, since you mention they are so rare that the 
only perfect one of them exists in Paris. 

My papa says since they have several, they ought to 
sell one or two of them. I wish they would, and America 
would buy one, that my little friends might see them too 
some day. 

I am, dear St. Nicholas, your faithful reader, 

Carmen M . 

Okanagan, British Columbia. 

My dear St. Nicholas : I thought some of your 
readers would like to hear about what we do in the 
West. I am only twelve years old. I have been taking 
you for a year. I enjoy your stories very much. Just 
now I am reading "A Boy of the First Empire." I find 
it very interesting. I do not go to school, for I have a 
governess in the house to teach my brother and me. I 
have learned to recite Harriet F. Blodgett's pretty verses. 
My teacher knows Harriet F'. Blodgett, for she was a 
schoolmate of hers. We live on a ranch, and we have 
a lot of horses and cattle; they feed on the ranges in 
summer, but we have to gather them up in the winter 
and feed them till the next spring. Some of them are 
sold then, and the rest are turned out on the ranges till 
the next fall. I live seven miles out of the city of Ver- 
non, in Okanagan, British Columbia. It is a very fine 
country for wheat and fruit of all kinds, and wild fruit is 
very plentiful. The mountains inclose our valley on 
all sides. They look very beautiful in the summer, when 
they are all green and covered with bright flowers of all 

We have a very cold winter here, but it does not last 
long. There is an Indian reserve not very far from us. 
The Indians speak a language called Chinook. They are 
taught shorthand by the missionary priests, and they 
learn it very quickly, we are told. One day we went to 
mass at the Reserve, and they all read their prayers and 
sang hymns out of their shorthand books. They also 
have calendars for the year, and the calendars also are in 
the same writing, 

Now, dear St. Nicholas, I will say good-by. 

Your friend, Mary G . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Julia B., Anna E. 
J., Miriam S., Margaret E., A. H. T., Wm. M., Ger- 
trude C, Anna L. M., Abby E. S., Barbara W., Anna 
P. C, Henry L. W., Amelia V. S., Blanche E. S., 
Katharine A., Nora V. S., Alice H., E., Leroy F. B., 
Lottie W., Robert E. R., Loretta M., Alice L. and 
Charlotte f. H., Mabelle H., Consuelo V., Chauncey S. 
DeW., Isabel C, Marion L. G., Efne B. and Bessie G., 
Etta and Agnes S., Rosalind L., Adele R. II., Katharine 
O'D. and Bessie F., Anne B. J., L. R. L., Mary E. B., 
Nelson B. W., Sue J., and Mabel B. 



Primals, Mozart; finals, Wagner. Cross- 
Olivia. 3. Zigzag. 4. Amazon. 5. Ravine. 

Double Acrostic 
words: 1, Mellow. 2 
6. Terror. 

Concealed Aquarium, i. Skate. 2. Eel. 3. Salmon. 4. Dace, 
5. Smelt. 6. Goby. 7. Tarpon. 8. Whale. 9. Shad. 10. Perch, 
xi. Oyster. 12. Whiting. 13. Cuttle. 14. Carp. 15. Clam. 16. Seal 
lop. 17. Sword. 18. Bass. 19. Sturgeon. 20. Herring. 21. Sar- 
dine. 22. Dolphin. 23. Haddock. 24. Grayling. 25. Sprat. 26. Trout, 
27. Pike. 28. Shark. 29. Winklet. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. 
4. Pet. 5- L. II, 1. L. 2. Sea 

Tea. 3. Lease. 4. Asp 

E. 2. Pay. 3. Eaves 

Diamonds. I. 1. E. 2. Cap. 3. Ea: 
:a. 3. Ledge. 4. Ago. 5. E. III. 1. 
E. IV. 1. L. 2. Via. 3. Lithe. 4. A 
Eaves. 4. Yew. 5. S. 

_ L. 

Illustrated Diagonal. Dante. 1. Dunce. 2. Camel. 3. Candy. 
4. Sloth. 5. Mouse. Cross-word Enigma. Stamps. 

Zigzag. Washington Irving. Cross-words: 1. Wasp. 2. Last. 
3. Lost. 4. Dish. 5. Bait. 6. Gnaw. 7. Gate. 8. Star. 9. Loon. 
10. Dean. 11. Whig. 12. Drab. 13. Vale. 14. Hint. 15. Fang. 
16. King. Riddle. The letter A. 

Triple Acrostic. From 1 to 6, Bulwer; 13 to 18, Lytton; 7 to 
12, Pelham. From 1 to 7, bishop; 2 to 8, umpire; 3 to 9, laurel; 

4 to 10, warmth ; 5 to n, enigma ; 6 to 12, ransom ; 7 to 13, patrol ; 

5 to 14, energy ; 9 to 15, Levant; 10 to 16, Hamlet; 11 to 17, ada- 
gio ; 12 to 18, maroon. Charade. Bad-in-age. 

Diamond, i. C. 2. Cad. 3. Cares. 4. Caramel. 5. Demit. 
6. Set. 7. L. Holiday Anagrams. April Fool's Day. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th, from Helen C. McCleary — G. B. 
Dyer — Alice Mildred Blanke and Co. — Henry S. Reynolds — Helen Rogers — L. O. E. — A. M. J. — Josephine Sherwood — Mama 
and Jamie — Paul Reese — Helen C. Bennett — Charlotte C. Moses — Kathryn Lyon — "Jersey Quartette" — " The Butterflies " — "Tod and 
Yam" — J. T. S. and W. L. S. — Marjory Gane — W. L. — Pearl F. Stevens — Ella and Co. — Jo and I — Meum et Tuum — G. B. D. 
and M. — Mary Lester and Harry — A. N. I. and R. S. B. — " Highmount Girls " — Clara A. Anthony — Ida C. Thallon — " Philemon and 
Baucis" — Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher — G. C. Cunningham — Harold and Percy — "Hilltop Farm" — Blanche and Fred — 
" Embla " — Cora Ellen Smith and H. Katharine Brainerd — Beth Riedell — "Four Weeks" — Isabel H. Noble — Sigourney Fay Nin- 
inger — Georgia Bugbee — Clara and Papa — " Tip-cat." 

Answers to Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th, from "Two Philosophers," 3— -M. 
McG., 14 — Edith H. Whitehead, 1 — Alex. H., 1 — F. Schmitt, 10 — " Ronaele and Yram," 6 — Lillie Lee, 2 — Anne M. Chapin, 1 — Audrey 
Holmes, 2 — Marjorie Gwinn, 1 — Donald Morrow, 1 — Claire S. Hall, 1 — Roland D. Bettman, 3 — Belle W. Brown, 13 — C. De F. 
P., -i — C. V. Briggs, 2 — Louise Chase, 1 — "Yankees," 5— Natalie Dole, 1 — J. C. M., 6 — Jack Tucker, 1 — Harry and Violet, 5 — 
Clarence F. Derr, 1 — Henry Manney, Jr., i — Bessie and Bernice Bell, 1 — Davila S. Du Brul, 2 — " Knott Innit," 13 — Alice and Willie 
Shedds, 2 — Berta J. Nabersberg, 2 — " Mary Gold," 1 — C. L. B., Jr., 9 — Tommy, Ben, and Jim, 1 — Fred K. Haskell, 4 — "Lady 
Edith," 3 — Anna and Jean Eisenhower, 14 — " Solomon," 4 — *' Contrary Mary," 6 — Bessie Dockstader, 6 — Beatrice Helen Staats, 8 — 
Adelaide M. Gaither, 3 — E. D. Thurston and M. S. Macy, 2 — H. G. Mather, 1 — F. E. E., 6— Jack Miller, 1 — M. S. Williams, 2 — 
Eugene Walter, 5 — V. B. and A. H. Jacobs, 12 — Kenneth Lewis, 1 — "Blossom, "5 — Marian A. Townsend, 3 — I. G. L. and G. A. 
L., 3 — Madeleine Chace, 4 — Eleanor Dey Young, 14 — No Name, Park Place, B., 2 — Wilfred and Harold, 8 — Albert Smith 
Faugh t, 10 — Lawrence Gilboy, 1 — Amy and H. G.Elliott, 12 — Mama and Sadie, 13 — Paul C. Chamberlain, 1 — Gussie and John, 7 — 
" Three Pussy Willows," 14 — Katharine T. White, 1 — Franklyn Farnsworth, 12 — Samuel J. Castner, 4 — "Very Smart Girl," 12 — Hu- 
bert L. Bingay, n — Philip Haney Wentworth, 1 — F. O. R., 13 — Hazel Ela, 7 — Helen K. Wright, 1 — B. Ash, 2 — Rena Woodward 
and Carleton Wilson, 1 — David S. Pratt, 10 — S. L. B., 8 — Ethel and Edna, 3 — Virginia D. Schaefer, 1 — Thomas Winthrop Streeter, 4 — 
C. Raymond and C. Augusta Schlechter, 2 — Victor J. West, 2 — George, Minnie, and Dadley, 12 — Mervyn and Williams Palmer, 14 — 
Hortense E. Wilson, 4 — Greta Simpson, n — Paul Rowley, 14 — F. E. D., 3 — Sadie W. Hubbard, 8 — " Two Little Brothers," 14 — Mor- 
gan Buffington, 1 — C. F. Barrows, 3 — John N. Shreve, 3 — Cora Keplinger, 7 — "Three Brownies," n — "More than one head," 13 — 
Marguerite Sturdy, 13 — "Seat-Mate?," 4 — Charles Travis, 10 — "Will O. Tree," 9 — Edward Wilson Wallace, 12 — Philip Ehni, 2 — 
Edith J. Haas, 2 — Anna C. Stryke, 2 — Karl G. Smith, 2 — J. Nelson Carter, 9 — Otto Wolkwitz, 1 — Bob Bright, 11 — Jos. G. Dunn, 12 
— Edward Tatnall, 1 — J. W. G. F., 12 — Harry and Helene, 14 — Robert Hardesty, 14 — "Arbutus,"i3 — Mary F. Hamilton, 7 — No 
Name, Bristol, R. I., 13 — E. de L. Q., 4 — " Merry and Co.," 5 — " Two Solomons," 9 — Jean D. Egleston, 5 — Norman and Mama, 8 — 
"U. N. Luckie," 12 — Ruth M. Mason, 5 — Saidie T. Hayward, 5 — Margaret Bright, 1 — M. G. Ford, 1. 


or prevent warping. 13. To dilate. 14. To inhabit. 
15. The fall-fish. 16. A kind of clay containing iron. 
17. One of the Muses. sigourney fay n. 


Dribs ear nisoy, — bese rea ghimnum, 
Lai cuesabe het yam si gomcin ; 
Lai eht utesong fo tarune sulho, 
Tou rofm wont, rfom sitcie tou! 
Tou form revey suby treset ! 
Tou form yerev derkaden tocur ! 
Hugroth het filed-spath tel rouy teef 
Girlginen og ni leanspat hutgoth. 

When the five objects in the above illustration have 
been rightly guessed, and the names written one below 
the other, the initial letters will spell the name of the 
author of a famous book. 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When these are rightly guessed, and placed 
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, 
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell the 
name and title of a famous patriot. 

Cross-words: i. Compact. 2. A letter of the Greek 
alphabet. 3. A kind of flower-de-luce. 4. To move 
slowly. 5. A country of South America. 6. An apologue. 
7. A Spartan serf. 8. An instant. 9. Over. 10. To 
urge. 11. The mountain daisy. 12. A strip of wood or 
iron fastened to something in order to give strength 


EXAMPLE : False hair plus a girl's name. Answer, 
wigan. A large plant plus a company. Answer, tricot. 

1. Arrived plus building material. 

2. A noise made by a cat plus a vegetable. 

3. Seated plus a tavern. 

4. A dude plus an animal. 

5. Money plus a lake. 

6. A boy's name plus a girl's name. 

7. Disorder plus a city in Massachusetts. 

8. A musical instrument plus a river. 

9. Knocked into pieces plus help. 

ALICE 1. H. 


i. Vestige. 2. A kind of fortification, 
rate. 4. A term used in fencing. 5. 
meaning "to make new." 

3. To deco- 
An old word 





Example: A massed gate. Answer, aggregate. 

I. A moist gate. 2. An abolished gate. 3. The gate 
of conventions. 4. The gate of conquerors. 5. The 
gate of the legatee. 6. A disinfected gate. 7. A many- 
colored gate. 8. A gate of relief. 9. A biblical gate. 
10. A quartz gate. II. A gate used by the haughty. 
12. A disparaging gate. pleasant e. todd. 


I 'm vegetable, mineral, alkaline, and acid; 
I 'm found on frowning seaside cliffs — in sunny groves 
so placid ; 

I can cause a burn or cure one; 

I eat and I am eaten. 

I make a pleasant drink for you, 

If you water well, and sweeten. 
I help to build your houses ; I help to raise your crops ; 
I come in blocks and bottle, in powder, bags, and drops. 



My primals and finals each name a reptile. 

Cross-words: i. Having the form of a cube. 2. An 
Indian prince or king. 3. A letter of the Greek alpha- 
bet. 4. An incantation. 5- A weight of twelve grains. 
6. A large African baboon. 7. To supply with moral 
or mental qualities. 8. A place of restraint. 9. A femi- 
nine name. M. D. G. 


In all but the first and last words, the last syllable of 
one word forms the first syllable of the word following. 

1. A domestic animal. 2. A table-sauce. 3. An even- 
ing meal. 4. To allow. 5. A covering for the hand. 
6. A sinew. 7. To give. 8. Masticated. 

pleasant e. todd. 


The diagonal, from the upper left-hand letter to the 
lower right-hand letter, spells the name of a Roman satir- 
ical poet ; from the upper right-hand letter to the lower 
left-hand letter, a Roman comic poet. 

Cross-words : 1. A thin cotton fabric. 2. Resem- 

bling or containing gold. 3. Deep musing. 4. An 
allowance for traveling expenses at a certain rate per 
mile. 5. The temporary possession of what belongs to 
another. 6. Slander. 7. To form like pearls. 



I. Upper Square: i. To pitch tents. 2. A plant 
which grows in warm countries. 3. An extensive waste. 
4. Saucy. 

II. Lower Square: i. To find fault. 2. Surface. 
3. Genuine. 4. A tropical tree. H. H. s. 


The twenty-seven missing words all rhyme with the 
first missing word. 

"Would you like to go to the county ?" asked 

my cousin one day. I was glad of the chance, and 

replied, " I don't if I do." When I went up to my 

room to dress, I stumbled over the top . If I were a 

man I might on such an occasion, but I can the 

pain of a bumped head without bad language. There 

were other delays in store. I had the misfortune to 

the dress I was going to , and though I could hardly 

time to mend it, I did n't to go with a 

ragged dress ; so I repaired it as well as I could in five 

minutes. Then I curled my , and touched the hot 

iron to my hand so that I burned it. At length I 

finished my toilet, but could not find the of gloves 

that I wanted. At this last misfortune my temper began 

to up, and I searched the room with a savage 

on my face. Finally I found them, to my surprise, just 

they belonged. Then I grew more amiable, and 

was ready to stSrt. Our old gray took us along at 

a moderate trot, and I had good long breaths of fresh 

country . " ," said my cousin as we reached 

the toll-bridge, "I have forgotten my purse and can't 

pay our across." Fortunately I had money with 

me, and so we were allowed to proceed. Soon we entered 
the grounds. There we saw all sorts of people, and how 

they did at the articles exhibited ! There was fruit 

of all kinds, from a to a watermelon, and fancy work 

from lace to patchwork quilts. Soon we heard the 

of a trumpet, and, looking up, saw a man approaching 

with a trained and a trained . After looking at 

everything and eating candy and peanuts, we went home, 
where we ate a meal. ALICE I. H. 




Vol. XXII. JUNE, 1895. No. 8. 

Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 


By John Bennett. 

Robin, abob in the top of the sycamore, 

Swinging and singing and flinging your song 

Out on the April breeze, 

Over the maple-trees, 
Like a gay cavalier lilting along 
Over the hills to the valleys of Arcady, 

Through dewy dells where the spring blossoms blow, 

Out of gray shadow-lands 

Into May meadow-lands 
Starry with wind-flowers whiter than snow, — 
Oh, let me ride with you, Robin, to Arcady, 

Swift through the cool of the dew and the dawn ! 

Oh, let me sing with you — 

Make the road ring with you — 
Gaily and gallantly galloping on ! 

Sing, Robin, sing a wild ballad of Arcady, 

Fresh as the fleet rosy clouds of the dawn ! 
Sing as I ride with you, 
Sing side by side with you, 
While we go galloping, galloping on ! 
Sing of the deeds that were done while the world was young; 
Sing of brave stories that never were told; 
Sing of the olden time ; 
Sing of the golden time ; 
Sing of the glory that never grows old ! 
Sing the grand hymn of the pines and the summer seas ; 
Sing the wind's song and the rush of the rain ; 




Sing of the mystery, 
Older than history, 
Sung by the seed in the growth of the grain ! 

Sing me the song of the sun and the summer-time ; 
Sing me the song that the bumblebee drones 

As he goes blundering 

Home from his plundering 
Deep down in orchards that nobody owns. 
Flute-throated herald of June and of hollyhocks, 
Ripple-tongued singer of roses and rain, 

Earliest, merriest, 

Bravest, and veriest 
Promise of summer and sunshine again, — 
Come, let me ride with you, Robin, to Arcady, 
Over the hills in the dawn of the day — 

Out of the shadow-lands 

Into the meadow-lands, 
Where it is summer forever and aye ! 


By Francis Churchill Williams. 

" Starvation Island," in one of the great 
lakes, is not marked on any map under that 
name. It is only a small bit of green amid a great 
stretch of water, and the name " Starvation " was 
given by five boys on account of a very unpleas- 
ant experience they had there a few years ago. 

The party consisted of Bob Hallowell, Jim 
Perkins, Dave Chew, and Andy Powell, besides 
myself, and we started for a week's cruise from 
our village. It was on the evening of the second 
day of the cruise that we landed on the island, 
thinking it a good place to spend the night. 

The island was scarcely more than a hundred 
yards in length and half as much across, and, 
except for some stunted trees and a growth of 
coarse grass, was rocky and uninviting. In one 
place, however, there was a small patch of level 
ground where the grass grew more thickly, and 
here we pitched our tent after making the 
painter of the sailing skiff, in which we had 
come, fast to a big rock and after pulling the 
boat's bow a little way up on shore. 

After supper had been cooked and eaten, we 
lay around the fire for a while and talked. But 
we all were very tired, and soon rolled our- 
selves up in our blankets and went to sleep. 

It could not have been later than five o'clock 
the next morning when I was awakened by a 
feeling of chilliness and a numbness in my legs. 
When my eyes were once opened, I saw that 
it was raining steadily — a fine driving rain 
which soaked everything as it fell. I quickly 
threw off my blankets, and shook the other fel- 
lows to waken them. 

" Why, it 's raining ! " exclaimed Dave, as 
he sat up, " and everything in the boat '11 be 
soaked if we don't attend to it right away. 
Great guns, but it 's blowing, too ! 

In a couple of minutes Dave and Bob had 
buttoned up their coats, and, with their hats 
pulled down over their ears, left the tent to look 
after the boat. The rest of us straightened up 
the tent meaning to provide dry wood for a fire. 

We had hardly commenced to roll up the 




blankets, however, when we heard a cry from 
the direction of the little cove in which we had 
left the boat. 

Tumbling over one another in our haste to 
find out what was the matter, we scrambled out 
of the tent and raced toward this place. Half- 
way there we were met by Dave and Bob. 

" She 's gone ! " gasped both of them together. 

"Who 's gone?" I asked. 

"The boat; she 's not anywhere in sight. 
The painter must have slipped from the rock. 
The wind 's blowing the water high up on shore, 
and she 's been floated off and driven down the 
lake ! " 

The five of us stood looking at one another 
in consternation. Here was a predicament. 

" Well," said Andy, breaking the silence at 
last, " there 's no use of standing here doing 
nothing. We 're in for a stay here now, and 

the best thing to do is to make ourselves as 
comfortable as possible and find how we stand 
in the way of provisions." 

After an instant we started back to camp, 
seeing the wisdom of what he said. 

Day was just beginning to break; at least 
the east had begun to lighten. But the gray 
clouds which scudded before the eastern wind 

covered the sky on all sides, and it was too 
dark to distinguish objects more than a few feet 
away. Altogether the prospect was anything 
but encouraging, particularly to five fellows 
who were soaked through and through. 

When we reached the tent, we all at once 
dived between the canvas flaps to take account 
of the commissary department. Evidently with 
the purpose of enlivening us if possible, Dave 
called out the articles in detail, as if he were 
making an inventory of goods, as he did at 
home in his father's store twice a year. 

" One bag of Indian meal — bag slightly dam- 
aged, meal damp ; one knuckle of ham, weigh- 
ing about two pounds ; one piece of dried beef, 
ditto; one can of coffee — mostly can; one tin 
of sugar — tin all right, but sugar has lost itself 
in a corner; six potatoes — large and of the 
sightless kind ; six large, flat, and very hard 
crackers — of superior 
quality; one salt-cellar 
— perforated top ; one 
pepper, ditto ! " 

We all laughed— we 
could n't help it ; but 
the laugh was a rather 
weak one, and quickly 

" That 's all I can 
find ! " said Dave, as 
he dropped the pepper- 
can. " Now the rain 
our plans." 

We went out of the 
tent and sat around in 
a forlorn circle, and it 
was only then that we 
discovered the full ex- 
tent of our predica- 
ment. Some one sug- 
gested that a fire be 
lighted, and asked for a match, after fruitlessly 
searching his own pockets. Each one of us rum- 
maged his clothes for the desired article, and 
with the same result. There was not a match 
among us, and neither was there one, as we 
speedily found out, among the camp stores. 
We were absolutely without the means of mak- 
ing a fire. It was the last straw on our load of 




misery, and not a complaint was made. Each 
felt utterly disheartened. 

Gradually, however, we realized that the 
blues would not mend matters, and we fell to 
discussing means for securing aid or for getting 
safely off the island. Each plan suggested pre- 
sented insurmountable difficulties. 

The island lay some three miles or more 
from the nearest shore, and we could not hope 
that any one would see us from there. We had 
no means of kindling a fire to produce smoke. 
We had no tools for making a raft. It looked 
very much, all agreed, as though Ave were des- 
tined to stay where we were until some one saw 
us ; and this was but a slim hope to cling to, 
for, as we very well knew, there was little sail- 
ing done except immediately along shore, or 
some three miles further out, where passed the 
steamers on their way across the lake. 

The first question then was, how long could 
we make our provisions last us ? A short ram- 
ble over the island the afternoon previous had 
shown us that there was nothing there to catch, 
nothing eatable, unless it was the bark of the 
trees ; we were without fishing-tackle, or even a 
hook. All our lines and supplies had been left 
with the bulk of our provisions in the boat, as 
we had expected then to leave the island the 
following morning. 

By putting ourselves on short rations we cal- 
culated that we could make the provisions we 
had last for two days, perhaps three; but this 
last was a contingency painful to contemplate. 

In pursuance of our plan, then, the ham was 
carefully shaved from the bone and about one 
half of it eaten for breakfast along with two of 
the crackers. When we had finished this sump- 
tuous repast, we confessed that we all felt about 
as hungry as ever. 

After a while we went down on the rocky 
coast of the island which faced the mainland. 
But the rain shut out the shore from view, and, 
after we had stuck up the tallest tree we could 
hack down with our knives between a couple 
of boulders and fastened a piece of tarpaulin 
to it which we chanced to have, we wearily 
walked back to the tent. We had small hope 
of our flag attracting attention ; but it was 
something to know that no chance was lost. 

The farce of a dinner only gave us a quick- 

ened sense of our keen hunger; and supper, 
which left us with only the piece of dried beef 
and three crackers remaining, was prepared and 
eaten in five minutes. From sheer weariness 
we fell asleep within an hour after this last im- 
portant ceremony. 

When a gnawing pain awakened us in the 
morning, we found that the sky had cleared, 
and that the wind had changed, and now was 
blowing briskly from the northwest. 

A third of the piece of beef and two of the 
crackers were eaten, and we went down on the 
shore to see if there was any boat in sight. 

The mainland now could be plainly seen, 
and one or two white sails close along shore 
showed in the sun. But they were nearly three 
miles away, and evidently would not come out 
toward the island. 

Dave and Bob agreed to stay down on shore 
for a while and keep a look out. Andy, Jim, 
and I went back to the tent. There we lay 
down on the blankets and tried to forget our 
hunger in sleep. But the effort was useless, and 
we were glad when the sun stood overhead, 
and we could call the other fellows up from 
their post to help eat the half pound of beef 
and the one cracker which constituted the noon 
meal. As Jim brought these out, he spitefully 
kicked aside the potatoes and the can of coffee, 
■which were useless to us for lack of a fire. 

After each of us had swallowed the morsel 
that was his share, Jim somewhat languidly re- 
marked : 

" I wonder what became of the boat ? " 

" Oh, she drifted out on the lake somewhere, 
I suppose," said Dave in reply. " There was 
an easterly breeze ; perhaps she 's near the 
Canada shore now." 

Andy, who had partly raised himself on his 
elbow as Jim made his remark about the boat, 
at this suddenly came to a sitting position. 

" I 've got an idea ! " he exclaimed. " Why 
not send off some small boats ? The wind 's 
northwest; the lake 's not rough. We can 
make them out of the driftwood on the beach ; 
there 's lots of it there. Then they can be 
rigged up with paper sails, and a message, tell- 
ing where we are, fastened to each. We can 
send off a whole lot of them. Some of them 
are pretty sure to go ashore on the mainland 




and perhaps be noticed and picked up. It is n't 
certain they will, I know, but it 's worth trying, 
and anything 's better than sitting idle." 

The suggestion was a happy one. In five 
minutes we were all down on the beach with 
our pocket-knives out and making the chips fly. 
There were plenty of bits of board there, and, 
selecting pieces over a foot long and some six 

a note-book Andy had with him, were wrapped 
in the greasy paper which had covered the 
ham and pinned or fastened to the boats. 

Then we set afloat our miniature craft, and 
watched them dance over the tiny swells to- 
ward the shore. Two of the boats upset before 
they had gone fifty yards; three others had their 
masts blown overboard by puffs of wind : but 

"there we set afloat cur miniature craft." 

inches wide, we rapidly shaped them into the 
semblance of boats by sharpening one end. 

Within a half-hour twenty of these roughly 
fashioned craft were lying on the beach. A 
number of newspapers, which we had brought 
ashore the first night for kindling fires, fur- 
nished material for sails. Slender sticks were 
split from a couple of cedar shingles picked up 
on the shore and fastened tightly in holes in 
the boards, which we laboriously bored with our 
knives. To these were secured the paper sails, 
which we stiffened with light splints of wood. 
The messages, written on blank leaves torn from 

the rest sailed bravely on before the breeze, and 
by the time we had manufactured and sent off 
ten more of them, which used up our supply 
of paper, the first lot was almost out of sight. 
Dave calculated that, as the masts had all been 
stepped well forward and bits of thin board 
used as rudders, the boats ought to keep fairly 
before the wind, and, if the breeze did not die 
out or increase so as to wreck them, be ashore 
by that night at the latest. 

We strained our eyes hard to see how the 
last of our fleet (of which only two were lost 
near shore) were faxing, and Jim even climbed 



a tree, from which point of observation he re- 
ported that all seemed going well with the 
boats, and that the first flotilla had disappeared 
from view entirely. 

Then, somewhat reluctantly, we went back 
to the camp. There was nothing to do now 
but to wait and hope that our plan would result 
in something of benefit to us. But we talked a 
great deal about it that evening, and guessed in- 
numerable times how many boats would safely 
reach land. None of us permitted himself to 
think that all of the boats would be wrecked 
and fail in their mission. 

Earl)' the next morning we were up and 
down on shore. But no sail was in sight. We 
watched expectantly all the morning, our hopes 
growing less and less\ We were too weak from 
hunger to leave the shore; for the last of our 
provisions had disappeared at dinner on the 
previous day. 

About the middle of the afternoon, Dave, 
who had wearily climbed a tree, uttered a weak 
shout : " Here comes a boat ! " 

We all looked in the direction he pointed, 
and there, coming down on the island from 
the east, were the sails of a skiff. 

With one accord we yelled and swung our 
hats, and tried to show our joy; but it was a 
pitiful exhibition we gave. 

Half an hour afterward the keel of the skiff 
grated upon the rocks, and two men jumped 
ashore. We fairly hugged them, in the eager- 
ness of our welcome. There were some crackers 
and cheese on board, and the way we fell upon 
these was appalling. Then, after our tent and 
the blankets had been put aboard, the skiff was 
pushed off, and we started for the mainland. 

On the way the men told us that at least two 
of the little boats we had sent off had come 
ashore and had been picked up and the mes- 
sages read, though they were badly blurred by 
water. At first it had been thought that the 
whole thing was a joke; but afterward it was 
decided to see what it meant, anyhow, and the 
two men who had come for us had agreed to 
make the trip. 

Our skiff had not been seen, and we never 
learned what became of her. But none of us 
ever forgot our experience on the island, and, to 
this day, there stands on Dave Chew's book- 
case one of the little fleet which was the means 
of rescuing us from a dangerous situation. 


By Gertrude M. Cannon. 

Beauty lies within ourselves, 

After all, they says 
And, be sure, the happy heart 

Makes the happy day. 

In a cool and shady garden 

Phyllis sat. The roses' scent 
Fanned a face whereon were written 

Restlessness and discontent. 
Lilies nodded, bluebells tinkled, 

Birds sang sweetly in the trees; 
Merry talk and joyous laughter 

Sounded on the summer breeze. 
" Oh," sighed Phyllis, " I am stifling." 

And she raised her pretty head. 
" I am sure 't is going to shower — 

What a horrid day ! " she said. 

In a warm and dusty city 

Janey, pinched and wan and white, 
Leaned against a heated building, 

Longing for the cool of night. 
Suddenly she spied a floweret, 

Pale and slender, at her feet. 
" Oh ! " she cried, and stooped to pluck it; 

Looking up in rapture sweet 
Through the crowded house-tops, Janey 

Caught a glimpse of blue o'erhead; 
And she kissed the little posy — 
" What a lovely day ! " she said. 

Beauty lies within ourselves, 

After all, they say ; 
And the glad and happy heart 

Makes the happy day. 


By James Baldwin. 

In the south of Italy there was once a flour- 
ishing Greek colony called Sybaris. The town 
was well situated for commerce, the surround- 
ing country was very fertile, the climate was 
the finest in the world, and for some cen- 
turies the Sybarites were industrious and enter- 
prising, carrying on a profitable trade with 
other countries and heaping up immense 
wealth. But too much good fortune finally 
proved their ruin. Little by little they lost 
their habits of labor and thrift, and instead gave 
themselves up to pleasure. Finally, leaving 
all kinds of necessary work to their slaves, they 
laid aside the cares of life, and spent their 

days in eating and drinking, in dancing and in 
listening to fine music, or in attending the circus 
and watching the feats of acrobats or performing 

It is said, indeed, that prizes were offered 
to any man who would invent some new kind 
of amusement. A certain flute-player hit upon 
the idea of teaching the horses to dance, and, 
since those creatures were as fond as their 
masters of pleasure, he found it a very easy 
thing to do. It was not long before the sound 
of a pipe would set the heels of every war-horse 
in the country to beating time with it. Ima- 
gine, if you please, a whole nation of dancing 



people and dancing horses — what a free-from- 
care time of it they must have had ! 

But the pleasantest summer must come to an 
end, even for grasshoppers. The Sybarites had 
for neighbors a community of hard workers, 
students, and tradesmen called Crotoniates, 
who lived temperately, drank water from the 
original Croton River, listened to lectures by 
Pythagoras, and looked with longing eyes upon 
the fair gardens and stately white palaces of 
Sybaris. They several times came to blows 
with the Sybarites ; but, as their army was 
much smaller, and they had no cavalry what- 
ever, they were beaten in every battle. Their 
foot-soldiers were really of no use at all when 
opposed to the fierce onsets of the Sybarite 

But real worth is sure to win in the end. 
When a spy reported to the Crotoniates that 
he had seen all the horses in Sybaris dancing 
to the music of a pipe, the Croton general saw 
his opportunity at once. He sent into the 
Sybarite territories a large company of shep- 
herds and fifers armed with nothing but flutes 
and shepherds' pipes, while a little way behind 
them marched the rank and file of the Cro- 
toniate army. When the Sybarites heard that 
the enemy's forces were coming, they mar- 
shaled their cavalry — the finest in the world 
at that time — and sallied forth to meet them. 

They thought it would be fine sport to send 
the Crotoniates scampering back across the 
fields into their own country ; and half of Sy- 
baris went out to see the fun. What an odd 
sight it must have been — a thousand fancifully 
dressed horsemen, splendidly mounted, riding 
out to meet an array of unarmed shepherds 
and a handful of ragged foot-soldiers ! 

The Sybarite ladies wave their handkerchiefs 
and cheer their champions to the charge. The 

horsemen sit proudly in their saddles, ready 
at a word to make the grand dash — when, 
hark! A thousand pipes begin to play — not 
"Yankee Doodle" nor "Rule Britannia" — 
but the national air of Croton, whatever that 
may have been. The order is given to charge ; 
the Sybarites shout and drive their spurs into 
their horses' flanks — what fine sport it is going 
to be ! But the war-steeds hear nothing, care 
for nothing, but the music. They lift their slen- 
der hoofs in unison with the inspiring strains. 

And now the armed Crotoniates appear on 
the field ; but the pipers still pipe, and the 
horses still dance — they caper, curvet, cara- 
cole, pirouette, waltz, trip the light fantastic 
hoof, forgetful of everything but the delightful 
harmony. The Sybarite riders have been so 
sure of the victory that they have taken more 
trouble to ornament than to arm themselves. 
Some of them are pulled from their dancing 
horses by the Crotoniate footmen — others slip 
to the ground and run as fast as their nerveless 
legs will carry them back to the shelter of the 
city walls. The shepherds and fifers retreat 
slowly toward Crotona, still piping merrily, and 
the sprightly horses follow them, keeping step 
with the music. 

The dancing horses cross the boundary line 
between the two countries, they waltz across the 
Crotoniate fields, they caracole gaily through 
the Crotoniate gates, and when the fifers cease 
their playing the streets of Crotona are full of 
fine war-horses ! 

Thus it was that the Sybarites lost the fine 
cavalry of which they had been so proud. The 
complete overthrow of their power and the 
conquest of their city by the Crotoniates fol- 
lowed soon afterward — for how, between so 
idle and so industrious a community, could it 
have been otherwise ? 


By Helen Hopkins. 

Mother says, "You mischievous girl! 

You 're busier than a bee ! " 
And father says, " Go play, my dear, 

And don't be bothering me J " 

But grandmama says, " You blessed lamb ! 

The darling of my heart! — 
Eliza, I think she wants some jam, 

Or a cake and an apple-tart." 


By Mary Rowles Jarvis. 

ITTLE Dame Daisy stood up 
in the meadow, 
All dressed for her party 
at three; 
Her gown was plain green, 
and looked dark in the 
But her cap was a wonder 
to see. 

Sir Buttercup stood at her 
side, the first 
As always devoted and 

And all the good cheer and good will 
of the summer 
Shone up through his helmet of gold. 

The clovers came next in their red, shining 
Where honey-bees reveled at will ; 
And butterflies swung in the frail, quaking 
That never a moment were still. 

A bevy of sunbeams attended upon her, 
Bewitchinsrlv clad in their best: 


Then all said " Good night " to the bright little 
And straightway, all fluted and curled, 

And a chorus of birds warbled glees in her Her cap-borders closed round her face, warm 
honor, and shady — 

Till the afterglow paled in the west. The coziest hood in the world ! 



By Frank le Seul. 

We had n't ought ter 'a' done it, Rover; An' now we '11 get a reg'lar trimmin', 
I s'pose we '11 ketch it now, for fair. An' have to tote a' old milk-pail; 

They said, " Come home when school is over, We '11 ketch it, too, for goin' in swimmin'. 
An' not go playin' anywhere." If yer know what I 'm sayin', wag your tail. 

But it looked so shady down the river, 
With the willows hangin' half-way 'cross, 

That I stopped to watch the ripples quiver, 
An' then I gave a stone a toss. 

Yer do ? Good doggie ! Don't you worry ! 

I '11 take your lickin' an' take mine, too. 
When yer see 'm comin', you scoot 'n a hurry ; 

If I stay, they won't go chasin' you. 

You started first down through the pasture, On'y next time you remember, Rover, 
An' I was 'fraid 't wa'n't right ter go; When I ask whether we 'd ought ter go 

But you said, " Wow, wow ! " when I ast yer — A-swimmin' after school is over, 

Two barks means "yes," an' one means "no." Two barks means yes, an' one means no. 



By Albert Stearns. 

[Begun in the December nitmber.\ 

Chapter X. 

As soon as the game was over, Chris slipped 
away and returned to the house without saying 
a word to any one, feeling too much ashamed 
to face the Lincolnvilles, who had gathered 
around the bench, and were engaged in an evi- 
dently excited discussion, occasionally casting 
glances at the late pitcher that evinced any- 
thing but a friendly feeling. 

Bob did not make his appearance until tea- 
time, when he seated himself at the table with 
an air of such profound gloom that Chris asked 
desperately : 

" What 's the matter with you, Bob ? " 

" I guess you know what the matter is," 
grunted the boy, evading his cousin's eye. 

" Where have you been since the game ? " 

" Nowhere in particular," was the unsatisfac- 
tory response. 

" See here," interposed Mrs. Green, suddenly 
throwing off the hostess's role, and assuming 
the spiked armor of the school-ma'am, " what 's 
the trouble between you two boys ? " 

" There is n't any trouble that I know of," 
said Chris, as Bob did not reply ; " but I s'pose 
he 's mad about the game." 

" Yes; I am mad about the game," flashed Bob. 

"Was it my fault that the Lincolnvilles did 
n't win ? " demanded Chris. 

" Yes, it was," returned his cousin, trembling 
with excitement. "All the fellows say you gave 
away the game ! " 

" Let them think so if they want to," said 
Chris, with a sudden burst of resentment. 

" Why should n't they think so ? You were 
seen talking with the captain of the Dusenburys 
at the beginning of the game, and some of the 
fellows suspected you then. And in the eighth 
inning, when Jim Everett told you that we had 
thought you meant to give 'em the game, you 

winked and said, ' How do you know you 're 
not right ? ' " 

At this revelation of the genie's duplicity, 
Chris felt that he could bear no more, and he 
began heatedly : 

" Bob Green, you ought to have known bet- 
ter ! I never said that. It was — " 

" That will do," interrupted Mrs. Green, ma- 
jestically; "we will not have a scene here, if 
you please. You can settle this matter after 

" Yes, adjust your — er — differences at some 
more suitable time and place," chirped Mr. 
Green, with the air of an elderly and experi- 
enced canary ; and he glanced at his wife in ex- 
pectation of a smile of approval, which he did 
not receive. 

The boys subsided, and Mrs. Storms re- 
marked that she had known how it would be 
from the first, and that it was always so. 

Very little more was said during the meal. 
Chris had ample time for reflection, and he de- 
termined that he would not yet confess the truth. 
He could, if he wished, produce the genie as a 
witness in his defense ; but he would not. The 
first grand exhibition of his marvelous powers 
should be made in South Dusenbury ; in the 
mean time let the Lincolnville boys think what 
they pleased. 

"If you did n't do it, Chris," said Bob, as 
they walked out to the barn after tea, "you 
ought to put yourself right with the boys." 

" I shall," was the reply. "You may be sure 
of that; but I shall take my own time." 

" If you have anything to say," advised Bob, 
" you 'd better say it at once." 

" I 'm not ready yet," snapped Chris. 

" All right. You know your own business 
best," said Bob, much offended; "but if I were 
in the box you 're in, I 'd get out of it as soon 
as I could." 

And he walked away in high dudgeon at the 





manner in which his advice had been received, 
leaving Chris standing alone in the barn. 

" He '11 sing a different tune when he learns 
the truth," mused Chris, with a short laugh. 
"And I '11 have that Lincoln ville nine at my feet, 
begging my pardon." 



With this agreeable picture in his mind, he 
strolled back to the house. The dining-room 
window was open ; as he neared it, he heard 
Mrs. Green's shrill voice exclaim: 

'■ Why did n't you give me this letter before, 

"I forgot it," bleated her husband, in an apol- 
ogetic tone. 

" Why," went on the lady, excitedly, " Maria 
says the boy is out of his head! It is n't safe 
to have Robert associate with him!" 

The letter that Chris's mother had promised 
to write had arrived, and had told the story of 
his supposed mental infirmity. 

As the boy entered the room, Mrs. Storms 

squeaked, "Dear me!" gathered up her knit- 
ting, and fled to her room; while Mr. Green 
said, " AVell, Chris, my lad, how are we now ? " 
with an assumed air of bluffness so unlike his 
usual manner that it seemed positively weird. 

Mrs. Green only was equal to the occasion. 

" Christopher," she said, " you will to-night 
occupy Robert's room alone ; your cousin will 
sleep on the parlor sofa. And I am sorry to 
be forced to remind you once more that your 
visit is somewhat ill-timed, and to be obliged 
to request that you will return to your home 
to-morrow. Of course I will write your mother 
a letter of explanation, which I shall ask you 
to be kind enough to hand her." 




" All right, Aunt Sabina," was Chris's short 

" You must n't feel offended, Christopher," 
chirped Mr. Green, apologetically. "Your aunt 
has excellent reasons for making this — er — 

" Oh, I 'm not offended," replied the boy. 
" I shall be glad enough to get back to South 
Dusenbury. I guess I '11 take the seven-forty 

" Very well." 

Chris spent the next half-hour in the parlor, 
reading a dismal little memoir of one of Mrs. 
Green's former pupils, who had died young 
after a course of study that would have proved 
fatal to an ordinarily robust adult; then, Bob 
having failed to reappear, he went up-stairs 
to bed. 

He did not see his cousin again until he was 

that ball- game, Bob; and you '11 hear some 
other things that '11 surprise you a good deal." 

"All right; good by," was Bob's short re- 
sponse ; and as the train started he ran off at 
the top of his speed, not stopping to wave his 
hand as usual. 

Chris's father was out when he reached 
home. His mother greeted him with an ex- 
clamation of dismay. 

" Don't worry, mother," he said cheerfully. 
" I came home because they did n't want me 
to stay any longer. This letter will tell you 
all about it." 

When Mrs. Wagstaff had read her sister's 
letter, she looked even more distressed than 

" Oh, dear ! what is to be done ? " she ex- 
claimed distractedly. 

Chris guessed the contents of the letter (he 

ready to 

start for home, 

when Bob suddenly 

appeared, and said in a 

frightened sort of way : 

" I 'm going to the train with 
you. We may as well walk, I guess." 

"That '11 suit me," said Chris, who 
saw that Bob had heard the story of his 
insanity, and was in fear that he might at any 
moment become violent. 

He entered into no explanations, being quite 
tired of the subject, and reflecting that his cou- learned long afterward that his surmises were 
sin would learn the truth very soon ; but as he correct, and that Mrs. Green had expressed a 
was about to step into his car he said : firm conviction that he was incurably insane), 

" You '11 soon know that I did n't give away and he said earnestly : 

(SEE PAGE 634.) 







" Now, you must n't fret, mother. Every- 
thing will be all right this very afternoon. I 
know what I 'm talking about. I 'm going to 
astonish the natives." 

" Oh, Chris, my dear boy, what are you go- 
ing to do ? " 

" I 'm not going to hurt anybody, mother," 
said the boy, with an annoyed laugh that the 
very words by which he had hoped to soothe 

her should add toher anxiety. 
" You '11 laugh to think how 
you 've worried when you 
know the truth." 

And he hurried away to 
escape further questioning. 

That afternoon, the won- 
derful lamp carefully wrap- 
ped in paper under his arm, 
Chris started for the Dusen- 
bury Academy. When the 
boys came trooping out at 
three o'clock they found him 
loitering outside the gate, a 
complacent, almost conde- 
scending smile on his lips. 
" Hello ! " cried Nat Mars- 
ton ; " back, are you ? Well, 
you did some great playing 
yesterday ; but why did n't 
you keep it up ? " 

" The Lincolnville fellows 
saw me talking to you, and 
they say I gave away the 
game," said Chris. 

"They do? Well, I'll 
send in a letter that 
will knock that idea 
out of their heads." 
" Say, Chris," inter- 
rupted Fred Tobin, 
with a laugh, " who 
was that old fel- 
low you got to 
help you off the 
other day ? I 'd 
like to hire him 
by the week to 
do the same kind 
of work for me." 
"Fellows," said 
Chris, with an air of deep mystery, " there are 
a good many things you don't understand that 
will be made clear before night." 

" W T ish you would make my geometry lesson 
clear," said Scotty Jones, with a grin ; " but I 
guess it would take more than you to do that." 
" I could do it in a minute, if I wanted to," 
replied Chris ; " but just now I have other and 
more important work on hand." 



" What are you driving at, anyway, Chris ? " 
asked Will Bent. 

" See here, boys," said Chris to the group 
that had gathered around him ; " what would 
you say if I told you that it was in my power 
to fly like a bird ? " 

" I should say you were talking through your 
hat," laughed Scott)-. 

"Well, it 's a fact that I can do it," main- 
tained Chris ; " and I 'm going to prove it. 1 '11 
go up to the top of the Methodist church stee- 
ple and fly down. When you see that, you '11 
believe I knew what I was talking about, won't 
you ? " 

" Yes," replied Nat ; " but I 'd rather see you 
fly up to the top of the steeple. Can't you do 
that ? " 

"I could, and I will later on," said Chris; 
" but I '11 begin the other way. Come on, 
boys " ; and he started in the direction of the 
Methodist church. 

" See here, Chris," interposed Scotty ; " this is 
only one of your tricks, and we ain't going to 
let you drag us over to the church. It 's out of 
our way ; we 're all going over to Simms's 

" Fellows," cried Chris, " I mean every word 
I 've said — that 's honest. You come down 
to the church with me, and stand over by Jen- 
kins's barn. I '11 go up in the steeple alone, 
and inside of five minutes you '11 see me flying 
down. After that we '11 all have a big lunch 
on the parade-ground — lobster salad, ice- 
cream, and — and whatever else you want." 

The boys roared with laughter at this, and 
Scotty said : 

" You 're a great fellow, Chris, but you can't 
work this game on us. Come on, fellows; let 's 
be off for the pond ; you 'd better come along 
too, Chris." 

But several members of the group were some- 
what impressed by Chris's evident earnestness ; 
and one of them — Will Bent — said : " Oh, 
let 's go and see what the trick is, anyway. If 
there 's any ice-cream lying around loose in the 
parade-ground, I don't mind helping to get rid 
of it. Come ahead." 

This decided the question. The boys all 
started for the church, Chris leading the way. 

" You fellows think I 'm trying to fool you," 
Vol. XXII.— 80. 

he said ; " but you 're very much mistaken, as 
you '11 soon find out. If you don't open your 
eyes wider than you ever did before in your 
lives, within the next fifteen minutes, my name 
is not Chris Wagstaff." 

" Have you invented a flying-machine ? " 
asked Nat. 

" You '11 see," was the only reply Chris would 

The sexton happened to be in the Methodist 
church, and he readily gave the boy permis- 
sion to ascend to the belfry. 

The new brick Methodist church, with its 
stained-glass windows and its tall, tapering spire, 
was the pride of South Dusenbury. The spire 
was the highest in the county, and was visible 
for many miles. Chris thought there could not 
be a better place from which to start on the 
flying expedition for which he expected the 
genie to provide him wings. 

As he started up the winding stairway that 
reached almost to the apex of the lofty spire, 
the boys — none of whom he would permit to 
accompany him — left the building, crossed the 
road, and took their places near Seth Jenkins's 
barn, where they were joined by others of the 
village lads, curious to know what was going on. 

" What do you suppose Chris is up to, any- 
way ? " asked Scotty. " He can't have in- 
vented a flying-machine." 

" Maybe he has," said Nat. " Perhaps it 
was in that bundle he had under his arm." 

" I '11 tell you what / think," said Will. " I 
don't believe he 's quite right in the upper 
story. Doctor Ingalls was at our house this 
morning, and my mother says he hinted some- 
thing of the sort — said Chris had been study- 
ing too hard lately, and had got to take a rest. 
I laughed at the idea, when my mother told 
me ; but I begin to think there 's something 
in it." 

" No, there is n't, either," said Scotty, very 
decidedly. " Chris Wagstaff will never hurt 
himself by over-work, if he lives to be a hun- 
dred. It 's only a trick of his on his folks and 
the doctor to get out of going to school. And 
he 's making ready to play another trick on us 

" Why does n't he appear with his flying- 
machine, if he has one ? " said Nat. " He 's 




had time to climb a steeple twice as high as 
that one. Ah, there he is at the window, 
now ! " 

Chris's program for the afternoon had in- 
cluded a wonderful exhibition of flying, fol- 
lowed by an elaborate luncheon on the parade- 
ground. After the meal he intended to under- 
take the erection of a new and magnificent 
town-hall and possibly an opera-house, both of 
which it was his magnanimous intention to 
present to the village. 

His face flushed, as much by pleasurable 
anticipation of the wonders he was about to 
work with the genie's aid, as by his run up the 
spiral stairway, he paused, panting, in the belfry. 

" Now, then," he exclaimed aloud when he 
had recovered his breath, " to business ! " 

He tore the paper wrappings from the lamp, 
and gave it a vigorous rub. 

To his amazement and consternation, the 
genie did not appear. 

" Perhaps he 's asleep," reflected Chris, re- 
membering several occasions recorded in the 
"Arabian Nights " on which genii had been 
caught napping. " If he is, I '11 soon wake 
him up." 

Again he rubbed the lamp, and again and 
again, but in vain ; the genie did not respond 
to the summons. 

A cold perspiration broke out on Chris's 
brow, — a strange, sick feeling oppressed him. 
Had the lamp, after retaining its wondrous 
power so many centuries, now suddenly lost 
it ? Was it possible that the genie had re- 
nounced his allegiance to the bit of " bricky- 
brac " that he had regarded for ages with fear 
and awe ? 

" Perhaps he won't come because it 's a 
church," said Chris to himself. " I should n't 
wonder if that was it. He 's a heathen spirit — 
a sort of demon, I guess. Well, there 's no 
help for it. I shall have to give it up for this 
time. I hate to go down to the fellows. How 
they will laugh at me ! " 

He stepped to the window, and by gestures 
conveyed the information to the boys that the 
exhibition he had promised them would not 
take place. 

Then he began slowly descending the stairs, 
a much crestfallen and greatly troubled boy. 

Meantime the group at Seth Jenkins's bam 
were commenting upon his extraordinary con- 
duct. Will Bent's theory that he was " not 
quite right in the upper story " had already 
found acceptance ; and when the luckless owner 
of the lamp appeared, and advanced toward 
the boys, they regarded him in a manner that 
told him at once what was passing in their 

" Well, why did n't you fly ? " asked Scotty. 
" Would n't your great invention work ? " 

Chris shook his head, with a sickly smile. 

" And how about that big lay-out on the 
parade-ground ? " inquired Nat. 

" It '11 have to be postponed," replied Alad- 
din's wretched successor. 

The boys stared at him in silence a few mo- 
ments ; then Scotty broke out with : 

" Come on, fellows ; let 's be off for Simms's 

And, paying no further attention to Chris, 
they started at a run. 

" They think I 'm crazy, too," said Chris to 
himself. He began to feel that he was becom- 
ing a pariah among his companions. " Well, I 
don't blame them. But maybe, now that I 'm 
out of the church, the genie will show himself." 

He rubbed the lamp with a trembling hand, 
but the stubborn spirit did not appear. 

So downcast and miserable did Chris appear 
when he reached home, that his mother's anx- 
iety in his behalf became greater than ever. 
She made a large dish of milk-toast for his sup- 
per, and put a jar of his favorite raspberry-jam 
beside his plate. But he ate very little, and 
went to his room immediately after supper. 

Seated by the window, the lamp on the ta- 
ble by his side, he abandoned himself to mel- 
ancholy reflection. 

The experience of the late Aladdin, so far as 
recorded in the "Arabian Nights," furnished 
no parallel to his own. Chris felt that the genie 
had treated him badly, and in a sudden burst 
of indignation he seized the lamp, and rubbed 
it fiercely, crying : 

"He must come — he shall! Ah, you 're 
here at last, are you?" — for the genie stood 
before him ; this time in the same form in which 
he had appeared on the occasion of their first 




"Yes, I 'm here," replied the spirit, in a cold, 
hard tone that Chris did not half like. 

"Why did n't you come before ? " demanded 
the angry boy. " Have you any idea what a 
scrape you have got me into ? " 

" One question at a time, please," said the 
genie, in the same icy tone, and with a cynical 
smile. " I did n't come before, because — not 
to put too fine a point on it — I did n't feel 
like it. As for the scrape you 're in, that 's no 
affair of mine." 

"No affair of yours!" gasped Chris. "Aren't 
you my slave, and the slave of the lamp ? " 

" Your slave ? " sneered the genie — " the slave 
of an old pewter lamp, in such a bad state of 
repair that it would be utterly impossible to 
light it ? I am not. I must say, with deep 
humiliation, that I was; but I am not now." 

"But you are!" almost shrieked Chris. "You 
can't help it ! You are, and always will be ! " 

" I am not, nor shall I ever be again," re- 
turned the spirit ; " so you need n't waste any 
more time and vitality in rubbing the old lamp. 
I responded to the summons this time only to 
explain the situation to you." 

" But you have n't explained anything," cried 
the boy. " If it had been possible to rebel, 
you 'd have done it when Aladdin owned the 
lamp. You can't — you know you can't!" 

" It was n't in my power then," said the genie; 
"but it is now. Just glance at this" — and 
he suddenly produced a few printed pages torn 
from some book, and held it before Chris's eyes. 

" Why, it 's the Emancipation Proclamation! " 
the youth exclaimed. 

" That 's precisely what it is," replied his 
companion, an exultant ring in his voice. " I 
accidentally learned of its existence only this 
morning. By its provisions slavery is abolished 
in the United States. Is n't that so ? " 

"I — I suppose it is," faltered Chris; "but it 
— it does n't apply to you." 

" I fail to see any exceptions or reservations 
which affect the present case," said the genie ; 
" and I have studied the document pretty care- 
fully. No, my young friend; I am no longer 
your slave. And as for that thing — " 

He did not finish the sentence, but suddenly 
raising his foot, he gave the lamp — which was 
the object to which he had referred so contemp- 

tuously — a vicious kick which sent it out of the 
window ; then he began to fade away. 

" Wait a minute," entreated the boy; "just a 
second! I — " 

But the genie was gone. 

Chris rushed frantically down-stairs, and be- 
gan a search for the lamp, which he very soon 
found. He rubbed it, but no genie appeared. 

As he dejectedly entered the house, his mother 
met him, and, folding him in her arms, said : 

" Chris, you 've always wanted to go to 
visit New York;.and now you 're going. I 've 
been talking to Pa about it, and you and he 
are to start to-morrow morning, and stay a 
week. I 'm sure that when you come back 
you won't know yourself." 

" I don't now, mother," said Chris, sadly. 

" Of course you don't," replied his mother. 
" But won't you be glad to go to the city ? " 

"Yes, — anywhere to get away from South 
Dusenbury and the fellows for a few days." 

The next morning Chris and his father 
started for New York. When they returned, 
a week later, Doctor Ingalls pronounced the 
boy cured. But it was a long time before he 
regained the esteem and confidence of his 

One day he sought consolation and sympa- 
thy from Will Bent, the only person beside him- 
self who had seen the palace on Chadwick's 
Acre. He had determined to tell Will the 
whole story. 

But Will cut him short with : 

" I don't want to hear anything more about 
that, Chris Wagstaff. I told my folks all about 
what I thought I saw, and I talked so much 
on the subject that they sent for Doctor Ingalls. 
He said it was all my imagination, and that 
there seemed to be an epidemic of that sort of 
thing among the Dusenbury Academy boys ; 
and I 've been taking medicine for it ever 
since. I 've got the idea out of my head, now, 
and I don't want you to put it back." 

" That settles it," snapped Chris; and thence- 
forth he kept his own counsel. 

The wonderful lamp — wonderful no longer — 
stands on the parlor mantel ; and lovers of the 
antique occasionally go into raptures over it. 
Once in a while Chris steals in and gives it a 
sly rub, but the only result is disappointment. 

By Martha Burr Banks. 

Do you know how all people, from far and 

from near, 
Say their "good morning" each day of the 
year ? 

For " How do you do ? " — 
The right word for you — 
Is not said just the same from Ceylon to Peru. 

In the Mexican nation 
they 're gallant 
and gay; 
They shake hands with 
all in a court- 
eous way ; 
And they bow and 

Their friends all 
the while, 

And " May you be well new !" they say with 
a smile. 

But the savages down in the Southern Pacific, 
Where corals abound and tornadoes terrific, 

Who care not a feather 

For wind or for weather, 


They salute by just rub- 
bing their noses 

And how do they do it in 

brilliant Japan — 

In brilliant Nippon, the 

land of the fan ? 

Oh, they bow very 


And then as they go 
They say their " good morning," which is 
" Ohayo." 


But over in China the old mandarin 
With a serious face does his bowing begin, 



Then with palms closely pressed 

In front of his breast, 

" Have you eaten 
your rice?" 
he asks with 
a zest. 

While with hands 
held together 
and lifted on 


And " Peace be upon you ! " the blessing he 



With a wish for the 

health of 

the one who 

goes by, 

The brown 

Will fall on 
his knees, 

Or bow down be- 
nignly with 
gracefulest ease. 

Among the dark 
Hindus that 
bide in Ben- 
In Bombay, the 
Punjaub, in 
the Deccan, 
and all, 
Where rules 
the Nizam, 
Or in ancient 
"salami" Assam, 

They all touch their foreheads, and cry out 
" Salam/" 

With his hand on his 
heart, the po- 
lite Persian 

His body inclines with 
the lightest of 
The greater his 

The lower he bends 


With the Syrian greeter now how is it done ? 
Why, his finger-tips meet as he greets any 

Then, with fanciful art, 
Touches brow, lips, and heart, 
And '•' May you be happy!" he says as they 

With the African men, 
then, what is 
the word 
That after the sunrise 
is frequently 
heard ? 
" May you flourish 
Till your hair is 
all gray ! " 

Is about what they say when they bid one 
good day. 

In France, where they 
dance and they 
sing and they 
" Now, how do you carry 
yourself?" they 
all say. 
Or if you don't 

Their true sense to 

" Comment vous portez-vous ? " fitly you '11 



6 3 8 




" How find you yourself? " they in Germany go; 
And " How do you fare ? " the staid Dutch 
wish to know ; 

And " How do you stand ? " 
Comes from Italy's band; 

And "Be well!" they 
will tell you in 
Russia's great 

And as over the sea 
The daylight shall flee, 
The same in Brazil its new welcome shall be. 



The Spanish "good morning" 's "Bue/iadias"; 
" Bon dia" 's the Portuguese wish as you pass; 

So over the earth the good greeting shall 

And each in his own way shall speak and 
reply : 

But one thought is found, 
Whatever the sound, 
And Good Morning 's Good Morning the 
whole world around. 


By Frank H. Sweet. 

Around the chimney swallows fly, 

And wrens explore the barn and shed, 

The orioles go flashing by 

With bits of straw and cotton shred. 

The sunlight glimmers through the trees 
And finds them busy everywhere, 

The robins, jays, and chickadees, 
And all the builders of the air. 



By Theodore Roosevelt. 

In 1776, when independence was declared, 
the United States included only the thirteen 
original States on the seaboard. With the ex- 
ception of a few hunters there were no white 
men west of the Alleghany Mountains, and 
there was not even an American hunter in the 
great country out of which we have since made 
the States of Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, 
and Wisconsin. All this region north of the 
Ohio River then formed a part of the Province 
of Quebec. It was a wilderness of forests and 
prairies, teeming with game, and inhabited by 
many warlike tribes of Indians. 

Here and there through it were dotted quaint 
little towns of French Creoles, the most impor- 
tant being Detroit, Vincennes on the Wabash, 
and Kaskaskia and Kahokia on the Illinois. 
These French villages were ruled by British 
officers commanding small bodies of regular 
soldiers or Tory rangers and Creole partizans. 
The towns were completely in the power of 
the British government ; none of the American 
States had actual possession of a foot of prop- 
erty in the Northwestern Territory. 

The Northwest was acquired at the time of 
the Revolution only by armed conquest, and 
if it had not been so acquired, it would have 
remained a part of the British Dominion of 

The man to whom this conquest was due 
was a famous backwoods leader, a mighty 
hunter, a noted Indian fighter — George Rogers 
Clark. He was a very strong man, with light 
hair and blue eyes, of a good Virginian family, 
who, early in his youth, embarked on the ad- 
venturous career of a backwoods surveyor, 
exactly as Washington and so many other 
young Virginians of spirit did at that period. 
He traveled out to Kentucky soon after it was 
opened up by Boone, and lived there for a year, 
either at the stations or camping by himself in 

the woods, surveying, hunting, and making war 
against the Indians like any other settler ; but 
all the time his mind was bent on vaster schemes 
than were dreamed of by the men around him. 
He had his spies out in the Northwestern Ter- 
ritory, and became convinced that with a small 
force of resolute backwoodsmen he could con- 
quer it for the United States. When he went 
back to Virginia, Governor Patrick Henry en- 
tered heartily into Clark's schemes and gave 
him authority to fit out a force for his purpose. 

In 1778, after encountering endless difficul- 
ties and delays, he finally raised a hundred and 
fifty backwoods riflemen. In May they started 
down the Ohio in flatboats to undertake the 
allotted task. They drifted and rowed down- 
stream to the falls of the Ohio, where Clark 
founded a log-hamlet, which has since become 
the great city of Louisville. 

Here he halted for some days and was joined 
by a few volunteers ; but a number of the men 
deserted, and when, after an eclipse of the sun, 
Clark again pushed off to go down with the 
current, his force was but about one hundred 
and sixty riflemen. All, however, were men 
on whom he could depend — men well used to 
frontier warfare. They were tall, stalwart back- 
woodsmen, clad in the hunting-shirt and leg- 
gings that formed the national dress of their 
kind, and armed with the favorite weapon of 
the backwoods, the long-barreled, small-bore 

Before reaching the Mississippi the little flo- 
tilla landed, and Clark led his men northward 
against the Illinois towns. In one of them, 
Kaskaskia, dwelt the British commander of the 
entire district up to Detroit. The small garri- 
son and the Creole militia taken together out- 
numbered Clark's force, and they were in close 
alliance with the Indians roundabout. Clark 
was anxious to take the town by surprise and 



avoid bloodshed, as he believed he could win 
over the Creoles to the American side. March- 
ing cautiously by night and generally hiding by 
day, he came up to the outskirts of the little 
village on the evening of July 4, and lay in the 
woods near by until after nightfall. 

Fortune favored him. That evening the offi- 
cers of the garrison had given a great ball to 
the mirth-loving Creoles, and almost the entire 
population of the village had gathered in the 
fort, where the dance was held. While the 
revelry was at its height, Clark and his tall 
backwoodsmen, treading silently through the 
darkness, came into the town, surprised the sen- 
tries, and surrounded the fort without causing 
any alarm. 

All the British and French capable of bearing 
arms were gathered in the fort to take part in 
the merrymaking or to look on. When his 
men were posted Clark walked boldly forward 
through the open door, and, leaning against 
the wall, looked at the dancers as they whirled 
around under the light of the flaring torches. For 
some moments no one noticed him. Then an 
Indian who had been lying with his chin on his 
hand, looking carefully over the gaunt figure 
of the stranger, sprang to his feet, and uttered 
a wild war-whoop. Immediately the dancing 
ceased, and the men ran to and fro in con- 
fusion; but Clark, stepping forward, bade them 
be at their ease, but to remember that hence- 
forth they danced under the flag of the United 
States, and not under that of Great Britain. 

The surprise was complete, and no resistance 
was attempted. For twenty-four hours the 
Creoles were in abject terror. Then Clark 
summoned their chief men together and ex- 
plained that he came as their ally, and not as 
their foe, and that if they would join with him 
they should be citizens of the American repub- 
lic, and treated in all respects on an equality 
with their comrades. The Creoles, caring lit- 
tle for the British, and rather fickle of nature, 
accepted the proposition with joy and with the 
most enthusiastic loyalty toward Clark. Not 
only that, but they sent messengers to their 
kinsmen on the Wabash to persuade the peo- 
ple of Vincennes likewise to cast off their alle- 
giance to the British king, and to hoist the 
American flae. 

So far, Clark had conquered with greater ease 
than he had dared to hope. But when the 
news reached the British governor, Hamilton, 
at Detroit, he at once prepared to reconquer 
the land. He had much greater forces at his 
command than were available for Clark; and 
in the fall of that year he came down to Vin- 
cennes by stream and portage, in a great fleet 
of canoes bearing five hundred fighting men, 
British regulars, French partizans, and Indians. 
The Vincennes Creoles refused to fight against 
the British, and the American officer who had 
been sent thither by Clark had no alternative 
but to surrender. 

If Hamilton had then pushed on and struck 
Clark in Illinois, having more than treble 
Clark's force, he could hardly have failed to 
win the victory; but the season was late, and 
the journey so difficult that he did not be- 
lieve it could be taken. Accordingly he dis- 
banded the Indians, and sent some of his 
troops back to Detroit, announcing that when 
spring came he would march against Clark in 

If Clark in turn had awaited the blow he 
would have surely met defeat; but he was 
a greater man than his antagonist, and with 
scanty resources he did what the other had 
thought to be impossible. 

Finding that Hamilton had sent home some 
of his troops and dispersed all his Indians, 
Clark realized that his chance was to strike be- 
fore Hamilton's soldiers assembled again in the 
spring. Accordingly he gathered together the 
pick of his men, together with a few Creoles, 
one hundred and seventy all told, and set out 
for Vincennes. At first the journey was easy 
enough, for they passed across the snowy Illi- 
nois prairies, broken by great reaches of lofty 
woods. They killed elk, buffalo, and deer for 
food, there being no difficulty in getting all they 
wanted to eat; and at night they built huge 
fires by which to sleep, and feasted like Indian 
war-dancers, as Clark said in his report. 

But when, in the middle of February, they 
reached the drowned lands of the Wabash, they 
found the ice had just broken up and every- 
thing was flooded. The difficulties seemed al- 
most insuperable, and so their march became 
painful and laborious to a degree. All day long 


the troops waded in the icy water, and at night 
they could with difficulty find some little hil- 
lock on which to sleep. Only Clark's indomi- 
table courage and cheerfulness kept the party 
in heart and enabled them to persevere. How- 
ever, persevere they did, and at last, on Feb- 
ruary 23, they came in 
sight of the town of 
Vincennes. They cap- 
tured a Creole who 
was out shooting 
ducks, and from him 
learned that their ap- 
proach was utterly un- 
suspected, and that 
there were many In- 
dians in town. 

Clark was now in 
some doubt as to how 
to make his fight. The 
British regulars dwelt 
in a small fort at one 
end of the town, where 
they had two light 
guns ; but Clark feared 
that, if he made a sud- 
den night-attack, the 
townspeople and Indi- 
ans would from sheer 
fright turn against him. 
He accordingly ar- 
ranged, just before he 
himself marched in, to 
send in the captured 
duck-hunter, convey- 
ing a warning to the 
Indians and Creoles 
that he was about to 
attack the town, but 
that his only quarrel 
was with the British, 
and that if the other 
inhabitants would stay 
in their own homes they 
would not be molested. 

Sending the duck-hunter ahead, Clark took 
up his march and entered the town just after 
nightfall. The news conveyed by the released 
hunter astounded the townspeople, and they 
talked it over eagerly, and were in doubt what 
Vol. XXII.— 81. 

to do. The Indians, not knowing how great 
might be the force that would assail the town, 
at once took refuge in the neighboring woods, 
while the Creoles retired to their own houses. 
The British knew nothing of what had hap- 
pened until the Americans had actually entered 


the streets of the little village. Rushing for- 
ward, Clark's men soon penned the regulars 
within their fort, where they kept them sur- 
rounded all night. The next day a party of 
Indian warriors, who in the British interest had 


been ravaging the settlements of Kentucky, 
arrived and entered the town, ignorant that 
the Americans had captured it. Marching 
boldly forward to the fort, they suddenly found 
it beleaguered, and before they could flee 
were seized by the backwoodsmen. At their 
belts they carried the scalps of the slain set- 
tlers. The savages were taken red-handed, and 
the American frontiersmen were in no mood 
to show mercy. All the Indians were quickly 
tomahawked in sight of the fort. 

For some time the British defended them- 

selves well ; but at length their guns were 
disabled, all of the gunners being picked off 
by the backwoods marksmen, and finally the 
garrison dared not so much as appear at a port- 
hole, so deadly was the fire from the long rifles. 
Under such circumstances Hamilton was forced 
to surrender. 

No attempt was afterward made to molest 
the Americans in the land they had won, and 
upon the conclusion of peace the Northwest, 
which had been conquered by Clark, became 
part of the United States. 


By Margaret W. Leighton. 

Now mostly in the forest dank, 

Or 'mid the meadow's herbage rank, 

When Flora's lovelier tribes give place, 

The Mushroom's scorned but curious race 

Bestud the moist autumnal earth — 

A quick but perishable birth. 

Prompt to alter, fade, decay! 

The mushroom race is indeed a scorned one, 
as Bishop Mant tells us in this quaint little 
rhyme, but none the less interesting, and, in 
many instances, extremely beautiful. Before 
proceeding to tell of the wonders to be discov- 
ered among these lowly inhabitants of the earth, 
look with me for a moment at the first toad- 
stool we can find, and let me tell you the names 
of its different parts. The top, or cover of 
this little umbrella, is called by the Latin word 
pileus, meaning cap ; under this the thin plates 
running to a common center are called gills, but 
in some species these are replaced by porous 
tissue which looks like a fine sponge, and in 
these species the pores are called tubes. In 
many kinds, especially when young, there is a 
thin membrane like a veil extending from the 
edge of the cap to the stem, inclosing and pro- 
tecting the gills. As the mushroom grows the 
veil breaks away, and its ragged remnants are 
left hanging in a circle about the stem, and 
this is known as the ring. A great many kinds 

of mushrooms, especially the poisonous ones, 
spring from a volva, or socket, which is like a 
stout ring round the stem close to the ground. 
The spores (seeds), composed of a two-coated 
cell, are borne on the gills or tubes under the 
cap. One plant often produces ten million 
spores. To see these tiny spores you must cut 
the top of a toadstool off and lay it right side 
up on a sheet of black paper. After a few 
hours, remove it carefully, and an exact rep- 
resentation of its shape will remain on the 
paper, formed by the thousands of spores 
which have fallen out. If the spores fall on 
favorable soil they germinate and send out 
great numbers of tiny threads. These, becom- 
ing intertwined and woven together, cover 
the ground like the finest web, and this is 
known as the mycelium, or "spawn." The 
threads absorb nourishment and carry it to the 
quickened spore. 

Fungi, unlike ordinary plants, possess no col- 
oring matter. They live upon other plants or 
animals, or draw their food from vegetable or 
animal substances in the soil. From the my- 
celium spring tiny mushrooms, perfect in form, 
and they await, on or just below the earth's 
surface, the warm, moist weather which enables 
them to spring forth and grow with almost 
magical rapidity. 




Scarcely a day passes in which we do not see various kinds is at . hand to complete its re- 
some forms of fungi, so common are they — moval by taking up the juices of the decaying 
inhabiting every nook and corner. If we walk structure. 

in the fields, the woods, even in the dooryard, 
we see the little white, gray, and brown umbrel- 
las of the toadstools and mushrooms. Going to 
the preserve-closet, we see that on the tops of 
many of the bottles a white growth has formed. 
Our old shoes hidden away in the dark have 
a greenish dust upon them : this is another fun- 
gus ; and the " mother " in vinegar claims cous- 
inship with the yeast which raises our bread. 
The pastepot is flecked with pink, green, 
and gray spots, all fungi. Some of the grain 
crops are often subject to partial or complete 
destruction from different kinds of fungi — the 
" smut " of wheat and corn, ergot of rye, and 

Silkworms are destroyed in vast numbers 
by a mould. Its spores, entering their bodies, 
fill the whole interior, and cause death in from 
seventy to a hundred and forty hours. The 
hop crop is often ruined by " mildew." One 
strange fungus attacks a kind of caterpillar, 
growing like a tree from his back until it is 
much larger than the poor worm, that crawls 
about with his unwelcome guest until it kills 
him. It was once described in St. Nicholas.* 

An enthusiastic gardener, who had spent 
eleven years in caring for one of the finest col- 
lections of hollyhocks in the world, tells how, 
just a month before he resigned his position, he 
had to witness the death of bed after bed of 
" these dear children," which were smitten with 
a new and terrible kind of fungus. 

To end the misdoings which are all charge- 
able to the tribe of fungi in one form or an- 
other, we must listen to Dr. Badham, who says : 
" A conspiracy of plants one hundred strong 
have long ago planned the destruction of the 
Coliseum ; their undermining process advances 
each year, and neither iron nor new brick work 
can arrest it long." 

As there are two sides to every case, we will 
now see what the fungi can do to benefit us, 
to make up for their many ill deeds. They 
are rightly called nature's scavengers, for, as 
Dr. Berkeley says, as soon as the death of any 
vegetable substance occurs an army of fungi of 

As an article of food mushrooms are becom- 
ing more widely and favorably known each 
year. Immense quantities are grown for mar- 
ket in caves near Paris, some of the beds -being 
seven miles long. One grower has twenty-one 
miles of mushrooms growing at Mery. In 
Italy the truffle-beds are so valuable that they 
are guarded as carefully as are game preserves 
in England. But the poachers, quite equal to 
the necessity, train their dogs to go among the 
beds, dig up those mushrooms of marketable 
value, and bring them out to the edge, where 
they are waiting to receive them. Mushrooms 
bring in a revenue of four thousand pounds a 
year to Rome, and M. Roques calls the de- 
spised toadstools the " manna of the poor." 

Mr. Julius Palmer, our own authority on 
mushrooms, says : " Were the poorer classes 
of Russia, Germany, Italy, or France to see our 
forests during the autumn rains, they would feast 
on the rich food there going to waste. For 
this harvest requires no seed-time and asks for 
no peasant's toil. At the same time the value 
of mushroom diet ranks second to meat alone. 
America is one of the richest countries in mush- 
room food." 

Dr. Curtis tells how he went out one night 
during our civil war, when meat was very 
scarce and dear, and gathered many kinds of 
mushrooms, of which he composed a stew or 
mixture, which was an excellent supper. Not 
only human beings, but cows, sheep, squirrels, 
and many kinds of birds, are fond of mush- 
rooms. In many places mushrooms are dried 
just as our grandmothers once dried apples, 
strung on strings, and hung from the ceiling for 
winter use. Some European species are used 
in coloring. One yields a yellow dye, another 
an exquisite green which colors the tree on 
which it grows ; and from this wood is manufac- 
tured the celebrated Tunbridge ware. The 
poor people of Franconia, Germany, dry, press, 
and stitch together a certain kind of mushroom, 
which is then made into garments ; and in Bo- 
hemia a large round toadstool is dried and the 
inside removed ; it is turned bottom upward, 

* See St. Nicholas for March, 18S7. 




fastened to the wall, and used to hold a beauti- 
ful trailing vine, which grows luxuriantly. 

Thoreau, happening one day upon a fine spe- 
cimen of the common toadstool, christened it 
the " Parasol Fungus." " It looked," he said, 
" like an old felt hat pushed up into a cone, 
and was almost big enough for a child's head. 
It was so delicate and fragile that its whole cap 
trembled at the least touch. How did its soft 
cone ever break through the earth ? " 

Having now reviewed the offices of the fungi, 
both good and ill, let us note some of their 
modes of growth, their individual peculiarities 
and beauties. There is one fungus which has 
a fancy for growing upon the hoofs and horns 
of cattle. Another strange one grows beneath 
the ground in India ; it is in appearance like 
an orchid bulb, and is called " little man's 
head," in memory of a race of dwarfs who, as 
tradition tells us, once inhabited this part of 
the country. One variety, " aspiring occasion- 
ally to leave this earth, has been found on the 
very highest pinnacle of St. Paul's." 

Probably you have all noticed the little white 
puff-balls in spring, and " shot off" the same in 
autumn, when they are dry and full of dark 
powder. This is one of our choicest eatable 
mushrooms. One admirer says he cut a slice 
from a giant puff-ball, which grew near his 
home, every day for a week, and had so many 
fresh fritters; whereas, if he had cut it all down 
the first day, it would not have made nearly 
so many delicious meals. One giant puff-ball, 
when young and creamy, if well cooked, will 
satisfy the appetites of twelve people. In olden 
times slices of this mushroom were used to 
bind up cuts, and were said to insure their 
speedy healing. In the days of flint and steel, 
before matches were invented, the powder of 
the dried puff-ball was often used to catch 
and hold the sparks. Another strange use to 
which it was put was to burn it before a bee- 
hive. The fumes made the bees drowsy, and 
the honey could be removed without difficulty. 
The uses of this fungus are admirably pictured 
in the following lines : 

We '11 make a feast in our mossy dell, 
Of infant puff-ball and rare morel, 
And many a favored guest shall sup 
On lily dew from a silver cup. 

The aged puff-balls shall help us to cheat 
The dainty bees of their luscious meat, 
While others shall burn to give us light 
And scare from our dell the dreary night. 

The Siberian convicts procure a poisonous 
fungus, the fly-agaric, roll pieces of it into 
small balls, and swallow it. It produces a 
remarkable effect. At first the victim laughs, 
sings, dances, and if a straw is placed in his 
path he jumps several feet in trying to step 
over it. A man traveling in Australia found 
a large mushroom of this genus weighing five 
pounds. He took it to the house where he was 
stopping, and hung it up to dry in the sitting- 
room. Entering after dark, he was amazed to 
see a beautiful soft light emanating from the 



fungus. He called in the natives to examine it, 
and at the first glance they cried out in great 
fear that it was a spirit. It continued to give 
out light for many nights, gradually decreasing 
until it was wholly dry. 

Dr. Gardner, while walking through the 
streets of a Brazilian town, saw some boys 
playing with a luminous object, which he at 
first thought was a large firefly; but he found 
on inspection it was a brilliant mushroom 
(Agaric) which now bears his name. It gave 
out a bright light of a greenish hue, and was 
called by the natives " flor de coco," as it grew 
on a species of palm. The young plants emit 
a brilliant light, and the older ones a pale 
greenish light. Many kinds of fungi are phos- 
phorescent. Humboldt describes some exqui- 
sitely beautiful ones he saw in the mines. The 

i8 9 5-l 




glow in rotten wood is caused by its containing 
the threads of light-giving fungi. 

Some of the Agarics and the fairy-ring cham- 
pignons grow in rings, springing up each year in 
a little wider circle than that of the year before, 
until by and by the ring breaks and the line 
becomes wavy, which shows that the crop has 
become exhausted. The fairy-ring champignon 
is one of our most delicious mushrooms, grow- 
ing on rich lawns and on the roadsides. 

Gerarde, the old English botanist, says : 

The meadow mushrooms are in kind the best; 
It is ill trusting any of the rest, — 

which shows that in his time very little was 
known about these valuable additions to our 
table. When mushrooms were brought into 
Rome for sale, all of this kind were at one time 
picked out and thrown into the Tiber. In 
England it is called the horse mushroom on 
account of the large size it attains, sometimes 
weighing fourteen pounds. 

Persons who are acquainted with the flavors 
of many fungi tell us that different kinds so 
closely resemble the tastes of beef, lamb, and 
other meats that they can often scarcely be 
told from them. There is the liver fungus 
growing on the ancient oaks of Sherwood 

Forest, which looks like a huge red tongue, 
and closely resembles beefsteak in taste. Mr. 
Worthington Smith says that the English 
chanterelle looks when growing as if made of 
solid gold. It tastes and smells like ripe apri- 
cots. Some of the mushrooms taste like chest- 
nuts. From one kind, which resembles in flavor 
lamb's kidney, a white milk oozes that is mild 
and pleasant to taste. 

Some of our best eatable fungi are the dif- 
ferent kinds of boleti. These, instead of having 
plates or gills beneath the cap, have a mass of 
fine tubes. They are mainly reddish or brown 
on top and cream-color or pale greenish be- 
neath. One poisonous boletus is lurid red 
above and below. In France, as soon as the 
early spring mushrooms appear, one choice 
kind is gathered in little baskets and sent to 
the doctors in payment of any fee which may 
be owing to them. 

One fungus is a perfect ear in shape; an- 
other, Dr. Badham says, " hangs upon its stalk 
like a lawyer's wig." Still another kind, which 
grew beneath a pavement and was possessed 
of great strength, lifted a flagstone weighing 
eighty-three pounds half an inch out of its 
bed. The oyster mushroom (so called from 


its close resemblance in color and manner of 
growth to a cluster of oysters, being white 
beneath and brown or gray above) is found 
on the trunks of old elm-trees. 






All our poisonous fungi spring from a socket. 
Of these the Amanitas are perhaps the most 
deadly. They are mostly white, some being 
blotched with orange or pale yellow. A person 
who is poisoned easily may be seriously affected 
by handling these mushrooms or even merely 
breathing the air about where they grow. If 
one is eaten the skin turns a strange dusky hue 
in from eight to fifteen hours afterward, death 
soon following. 

Mr. Smith tells his experiences with the poi- 
sonous forest mushroom. He found a large 
fungus one day in the woods, and as it looked 
very inviting, he cut a part of it, which he car- 
ried home and had carefully cooked, inviting 

two gentlemen to lunch with him. He himself 
ate, he says, perhaps a fourth of an ounce, and 
shortly after the meal was finished left home. 
He was soon overcome by a feeling of gloom 
and nervousness, succeeded by a severe head- 
ache. His brain began to swim, and he was 
seized with violent pains. He was able to stand 
with great difficulty, and all objects seemed 
to be moving with deathlike stillness from side 
to side. He finally reached home, where he 
found his two friends in a similar condition. 
For some time they all expected to die; but 
fortunately all recovered. 

Those persons who are acquainted with fungi 
(and no others should attempt to gather them) 
are never poisoned unless they are trying some 
unknown species, or unless they are exceedingly 

Of the beautiful and brilliant fungi, per- 
haps the violet-cobweb mushroom surpasses 
all others. It grows beneath fir and pine trees, 
contrasting its purple with the velvety moss 
and tender grass. Another which vies with it 
in beauty springs up on decaying wood in early 
spring. Its scarlet-tinted cups appear before 
the snow has gone. 

While riding among the White Mountains, a 
few years ago, I found some great fungi grow- 
ing on the trees of the hemlock forests of that 
region. They were brown or gray on top, some 
of them having pretty little borders of red and 
black on the edges. The under sides were pale 
cream-color. I found that the inhabitants of 
these regions used them for brackets, which 
were much handsomer than any that could 


i8 9S .: 



have been purchased. Our woods are full of manufactories have been established. It takes 

a fungus, growing on the tree-trunks, which a lichen many years to come to maturity, as it 

is very much like this White Mountain one, grows very slowly, and not at all in dry weather. 

only much smaller. As it has the appearance 

of a little wing, I call it the butterfly fungus. 

Some of the wings are soft and rich-looking, 

like velvet ; others have a satiny luster, and 

shade from white through pale yellow and 

orange to deep brown. Others are dark gray 

or black, shading always in regular graded 

stripes to white on the edge. 

Glancing from my window, one morning after 
a warm rain, at my neighbor the red cedar, I 
saw that it was covered with small plums, soft 

. . 



and translucent, and of a bright orange color, 
hanging by slender stems from the little twigs. 
They had appeared with mushroom-like rapid- 
ity, having developed in a single night ; after a 
few hours' exposure to the sunshine they were 
gone. This magical fruit was the cedar-apple. 
It lasts but a brief time. 

Quite a different race, but not less interesting, 
is that of the Lichens. While the fungi derive 
their food from the objects on which they 
grow, the lichens need only what they absorb 
from the atmosphere. Where that is impure 
they cannot live. Certain kinds of lichens, 
which were before very plentiful, have entirely 
disappeared from regions where collieries and 

The lichen's most important function seems 
to be to beautify the landscape, though some 
tiny ones are utilized by mother humming-bird 
to cover the outside of her nest, in order to 
conceal it as much as possible. In Iceland the 
lichen called Iceland moss is gathered every 
year by the boys and girls. It is boiled in milk 
and eaten. Fanny Bergen, in her little book 
on " Plant Life," tells us that the Indians guided 
themselves through the trackless forests by ob- 
serving on which sides of the trees the lichens 
grew thickest, those being the northern sides. 

Ruskin thus beautifully describes the part ful- 
filled in nature by these lowly but dainty mem- 
bers of the vegetable kingdom : " In one sense 
the humblest, in another they are the most 
honored of the earth-children. Strong in lowli- 




ness, they neither blanch in heat nor pine in sioned rock, they share also its endurance. Far 

frost. To them, slow-fingered, constant-hearted, above, among the mountains, the silver lichen 

is intrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal spots rest star-like on the stone ; and the gath- 

tapestries of the hills ; to them, slow-penciled, ering orange stain upon the edge of yonder 

iris-eyed, the tender framing of their endless western peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand 

imagery. Sharing the stillness of the unimpas- years." 



By Agnes Lewis Mitchill. 

1 'll tell you a secret — I don't think you know it ! 
The fairies were camping last night on the lawn. 
While you were all sleeping, outdoors softly creeping, 
I found their white tents, but the fairies had gone. 

They were in a great flurrv, or why should they 

hurry ? 
. To leave their white tents was a queer thing to do. 
May be they come only at night, when 't is lonely. 
I guess they are sly gipsy fairies — Don't you? 



By Howard Pyle. 

[Begun in the April number, I&g4.] 

Chapter XLII. 


Jack was awakened from a sound sleep by 
some one shaking him. He opened his eyes. 
A rough, red face was bending over just above 
him. In the first instant of waking he could 
not remember where he was, or what face it 
was that was looking at him. He was, first of 
all, conscious of a throbbing, beating pain in 
the palms of his hands. It seemed to him that 
he had felt it all night. 

" What is it ? " said he. " What do you 
want ? " 

" Why," said Captain Dolls, " we 're at Nor- 
folk, and have been here for three hours and 
more. Colonel Parker 's aboard, and he wants 
to see you. He 's out in the great cabin now." 

Jack was wide awake by this time. " Very 
well," said he ; " then I '11 go to him directly. 
Have you a bucket of water here, that I may 
wash myself? I 'm not fit to go to his honor 
as I am." 

" Why, yes ; if you want water to wash with, 
I '11 call William Kitchen to fetch some." 

Later, Jack stood lingering for a moment at 
the door of the cabin. His heart was beating 
quickly with trepidation. He could hear Col- 
onel Parker's voice within. What would the 
great gentleman say and do ? 

" Go on," said Captain Dolls, who had fol- 
lowed him. "What d' ye stop for?" Then 
Jack opened the door and went in. 

Some one rose as he entered : it was Colonel 
Parker. In a swift look Jack saw that the 
young lady had been sitting beside her father. 
Captain Dolls's wife was also in the cabin. She 
was packing the young lady's clothes into a 
traveling-bag. Jack saw that the young lady 
was looking at him ; he saw in the glance that 
Vol. XXII.— 82. <H9 

she had been crying. Colonel Parker was look- 
ing at him also. " Was it, then, one so young 
as thou," said he, " who would dare to bring my 
Nelly away from the villains ? Come hither"; 
and as Jack came lingeringly forward, Colonel 
Parker reached out and laid his hand upon 
Jack's shoulder, holding it firmly. He looked 
long and steadily at Jack's face. "Ay," said he, 
"'t is a good, honest face." Jack was conscious 
that the captain's wife was looking on and lis- 
tening. It made him feel more embarrassed 
than he would perhaps otherwise have felt. 
Colonel Parker was still gazing at him. Jack 
could not look up. " Ay," said the Colonel 
again, " 't is a good, honest face, and the face 
of an honest young man. I am glad 't was 
such a good, honest soul that brought our 
Nelly back to us. We shall never, never forget 
what you have done, — never forget it." 

His mood was still very warm with the emo- 
tions that had melted him. And as he spoke 
he was very much moved. " And that other pre- 
server," said he, — " that other brave companion 
who gave his life — yes, his life — that he might 
save my girl, — never can I forget him. But he 
is beyond anything that I can do to reward 
him and to bless him now. I would that he 
were here, that I might show him, as I shall 
show you, that we shall never forget what you 
have done for us." 

In his softened mood, still holding Jack by 
the shoulder, Colonel Parker drew out his 
handkerchief and wiped his eyes and his face. 
Jack, knowing that there were tears running 
down out of the great man's eyes, had not 
dared to look into his face, but stood gazing 
down upon the floor. 

" Well," said Colonel Parker, " we are just 
making ready to leave this and to go aboard of 
my own vessel, and so back to Marlborough. 
If you have anything to get ready, you had 
better do so, for of course you go along with us." 




" I have nothing to get ready," said Jack. 
" There were two overcoats we brought with 
us. They belong to Captain Teach, but I left 
them in the yawl last night." 

Every moment as he stood there he was 
happier and happier. It seemed to him, in- 
deed, that he was beginning to reap his reward. 
The words that Colonel Parker had said to 
him seemed to grow riper and riper to his 
mind, and he was very happy. His hands, 
however, hurt him very much. 

Just then the captain came into the cabin. 
" Well, sirrah," said Colonel Parker, looking 
sternly at him, " my daughter tells me that you 
made her promise that I would pay you ten 
pounds for fetching her back from the capes." 
The captain stood awkwardly. He rubbed first 
one side of his face with his hand, and then the 
other. " Well, what have you to say for your- 
self?" said Colonel Parker. 

"'T will, maybe, lose me three days by com- 
ing back, your honor." 

" Three days ! Well, even if you lose three 
days, is that worth ten pounds, d' ye think ? " 

The captain did not reply. 

" Come, papa," said the young lady, " do 
not be so hard with him. 'T was I promised 
you would pay it." 

" Well," said Colonel Parker, " 't is not rea- 
sonable that the man should trade upon your 
necessities. 'T is a rogue to have done such 
a thing. Five pounds would have paid the 
man more than well; but ten pounds! Well, 
fetch me hither pen, ink, and paper, sirrah, 
and I '11 give you an order on my agent here 
in Norfolk. I '11 pay you, — but I have my 
opinion of you." 

Lieutenant Maynard stood waiting at the 
open gangway as the three came out of 
the cabin, preceded by the captain carrying 
the bundle. Mr. Maynard took off his hat 
as the young lady approached. 

"This is my daughter, Lieutenant Maynard," 
said Colonel Parker ; and the lieutenant bowed 
low to her. " And this," said Colonel Parker, 
" is the young man who brought her back — 
a fine, noble fellow, and a good, honest, comely 
lad, too." 

" Why, then," said the lieutenant to Jack, 
" I shall ask you to let me take your hand. 

Give me your hand." Jack reached out his 
throbbing palm to the lieutenant, who shook it 
firmly. " Zounds ! you are a hero," said he. 
" See, sir," said he to Colonel Parker ; " this is 
the boat they escaped in — such a little open 
boat as that to come all the way from Bath 
Town, and through a storm, they tell me, in 
the lower sound ! We are going to tow it 
over to the schooner." 

He pointed down at the yawl as it lay along- 
side, fastened to the other boat by the bow-line. 
Colonel Parker looked down into the empty 
boat. There was the stain of blood still upon 
the thwart where Dred had sat when he was 
shot. The very emptiness of the boat, as it lay 
there, seemed to speak all the more vividly 
of the tragedy that had been enacted in it. 

Jack sat in the stern of the boat, not far 
from Colonel Parker and the young lady, as it 
was rowed away toward the schooner. They 
were towing the yawl behind. He was feeling 
how his smarting hands throbbed and burned 
in pulsations of pain. He looked down fur- 
tively into one of his palms. 

" Why, what is the matter with your hand, 
my lad ? " said Colonel Parker, suddenly. 

Jack blushed red, and shut his fist tight. " I 
flayed them rowing, your honor," said he. 

" While you were helping Nelly away ? " 

" Yes, your honor." 

" Let me see your hand." 

Jack held it out reluctantly, conscious of the 
rough knuckles and nails. Colonel Parker took 
it in his. "Why," he exclaimed, "what a dread- 
ful, terrible sore hand is this ! Let me see 
t' other. And did you suffer this in helping 
Nelly get away? Why, Lieutenant, look at the 
poor boy's hands. They must be salved and 
dressed as soon as we get him aboard the 

" Let me see, my lad," said the lieutenant. 

Chapter XLIII. 


Colonel Parker's schooner had now been 
lying for two days at Norfolk, whither it had 
come after having picked up the crew of the 
bark " Duchess Mary" — the vessel the pirates 

lS 9S .] 



had sunk — at the mouth of the bay. In the 
open boat there were, as has been said, besides 
the crew, eleven redemption servants — nine 
men and two women. 

The mate had been trying to make arrange- 
ments to have the servants and the shipwrecked 
crew forwarded to Charleston, whither the 
Duchess Mary had been consigned. Mean- 
time, at his request, the servants had been held 
aboard of the schooner for safe keeping. 

Perhaps there was no part of his misfortunes 
more bitter to Attorney Burton than to be thus 
held a prisoner in the very sight of land, and 
almost within reach of the town. 

The news that Colonel Parker's daughter 
had escaped from the pirates, and that one of 
the pirates had brought her back, was known 
all over the ship, since word to that effect had 
been brought aboard early in the morning. 

Now the boat was returning, bringing the 
young lady and her rescuer, and all on board 
clustered at the side, looking out toward it as 
it approached. 

Attorney Burton stood looking on with the 
others. He had heard that the young lady 
had been brought back, and that the man who 
had rescued her was one of the pirates. He 
was very curious to see him. The crowd about 
him jostled him and pushed him, but he held 
his place. The boat was coming nearer and 
nearer. It was towing another boat after it. 
From where the little attorney stood he could 
see that the surgeon and the sailing-master and 
the master's mate stood at the gangway wait- 
ing for the approaching boat. The men all 
around him were talking, and he listened as 
he stood looking. 

" That 's the young lady sitting there in the 
stem." " That young fellow must be he what 
fetched her back." " Why, he looks to be no 
more than a boy! To think of him being one 
of them pirates! " The boat was close under the 
side of the schooner, and the next moment the 
crew had unshipped their oars with a loud 
and noisy clatter. The lieutenant leaned out 
astern, and stopped the yawl as it slid past 
him with the impetus of its motion, and then 
it also fell around broadside to the schooner. 
A young man sat in the stern of the boat with 
the young lady and her father. As it stopped 

he arose with Colonel Parker and Lieutenant 
Maynard. Attorney Burton looked down at 
them with the others. Was that young man 
— almost a boy — really one of the America 
pirates ? They were assisting the young lady 

" By glory ! she 's a beauty ! " said one of 
the men. 

" I wish I had that there young fellow's 
luck," said another, " to have fetched her back 
as he 's done. 'T is like his fortune is made 
with it." 

The young man was roughly dressed in a 
sort of half sailor costume. His hair was long 
and shaggy. Suddenly he turned up his face, 
and the attorney could see it more plainly. 
There was something very familiar in the face. 
Then the young man had climbed aboard after 
the others, and he and the young lady and 
Colonel Parker and Lieutenant Maynard had 
gone into the cabin together. 

One of the crew of the boat threw a line 
aboard. Some of the men on deck caught it, 
and drew both of the boats and the yawl for- 
ward to the davits, close to which the attorney 
was standing. " Out of the way, there ! " said 
one of the men, and then he moved aside. 

" What boat have ye in tow there, Tommy? " 
called one of the men to an oarsman of the 
boat's crew below. " Is that the boat he 
fetched her up in ? " 

The man in the boat below looked up. 
" Ay," said he, " that 's the boat they came 
up in. There was a man shot aboard of her. 
He was shot where ye see the blood there on 
the stern-thwart." 

The attorney could see a dark stain upon 
the seat. 

" Who was it 't was shot ? " 

" I don't just know what his name was, but 
't was one of them pirates." 

They made fast the falls to the boat, and 
were hoisting her aboard. There were some 
men in the yawl. " You 'd better push that 
yawl aft. We '11 tow her astern," said the 
master's mate, who had come forward. 

" Ay, ay, sir! " 

The attorney plucked the sleeve of one of 
the boat's crew who had come aboard, and was 
standing talking to a little group that had gath- 




ered around him. The man turned to the at- 
torney. "Do you know what is that young 
pirate's name ? " said the lawyer. 

" Why, yes," said the man. " Let me see, 
though; I do believe I 've forgot. What was 
it ? Lancaster ? No, that were n't it. 'T were 
something like Lancaster. What was the name 
of that young fellow, Jimmy ? " said he, turn- 
ing to another of the crew ; " I 've clean 

" Who ? The young lad in the boat ? 'T were 
Ballister," said the man. 

Jack sat in the cabin while Ur. Poor dressed 
his hands. The surgeon was just winding a 
linen bandage around one of them. The dress- 
ing felt very soothing and cool to Jack. Colo- 
nel Parker and the young lady and Lieutenant 
Maynard sat opposite to him across the table. 
Colonel Parker had been asking them many 
things about the circumstances of their escape. 
Jack had just been telling what he knew of the 
circumstances of the young lady's abduction. 
" And were you with the pirates, then, when 
they took Nelly away ? " said Colonel Parker. 

" No, sir. I did n't go with them over to 
the house, if you mean that, your honor," 
said Jack. " I stayed aboard of the boat 
while they went. . There was a watch of half 
a dozen left aboard, and I was with them. 
The others went off in three boats. The yawl 
was one of them. It was the biggest of the 
three, and Blackbeard went in it. I had only 
just come aboard, and I don't think they would 
have chosen me to go with them upon such 
an expedition. I had just run away from Mr. 
Parker's then, and that was my first day with 

" Why, then, I am glad of that," said Col- 
onel Parker. " I am very glad you were not 
with them in such a wicked business as attack- 
ing a defenseless house of women. But I don't 
see how they could dare to do such a thing. 
There must have been some one put the vil- 
lains up to doing such a thing. Did you hear 
whether there was any one else concerned in it, 
instigating them to do the outrage ? " 

Jack had heard enough talk in Blackbeard 's 
house to guess that Mr. Richard Parker had 
been the prime mover in the outrage, but he 

did not dare to tell Colonel Parker so to his 
very face. " Why, I can 't say," said he ; " but 
they 're very desperate villains, your honor, and 
that 's the truth. You don't think what des- 
perate villains they are when you are with 
them, for they talk and act just like anybody 
else. But I do believe that there 's nothing 
they will stop at." 

Colonel Parker sat in silence for a little 

" Ay," said he at last, and speaking in a low 
voice, " well do I know, to my sorrow, what 
desperate villains they are. No one knoweth 
it better than I." No one spoke ; all knew 
that he was thinking of how his son had been 

Jack was thinking how intimately Dred was 
concerned in that tragic happening. Then he 
suddenly remembered what Dred had told him 
about the chest of money Blackbeard had bur- 
ied. " I nigh forgot to tell your honor," said 
he. " Dred told me, just before he died, that the 
pirates had taken a chest of money out of the 
vessel that — that time — when — " 

" Ay," said Colonel Parker; "I know what 
you mean. 'T was that wretched chest that 
my poor dear Ned gave his life to defend. 
Rather would I have paid ten times all there 
was in it than that he should have endangered 
his precious life in defending it. They could 
not have got so much by it, either," he con- 
tinued ; " for there was only between three and 
four thousand pounds of coin in it, the rest 
being goldsmiths' bills and bills of exchange 
which were being forwarded to some merchants 
in Baltimore." 

" Well," said Jack, " Dred told me that 
Blackbeard had buried that chest down near 
his house at Bath Town. He said he saw 
Blackbeard bury it at night. He told me just 
where it was hid. I believe I could find the 
very place if I had the chance." 

" Could you, indeed ! " cried Colonel Parker. 
He sat thinking for a few minutes. " Very 
well ; I will speak to you about that at another 

The surgeon had been silently listening as he 
bound up Jack's other hand. He clipped off 
the thread. " There ; you are all as well as I 
can make you now," said he. 

i8 9S .; 


"And indeed they feel mightily comfortable," 
said Jack, opening and shutting his hand; "and 
I thank you kindly." 

" If you '11 go along now with Dr. Poor," 
said Colonel Parker, " he '11 take you to the 
lieutenant's cabin. The steward hath laid out 
some clean clothes there for you to put on." 

The steward was just coming out of the lieu- 
tenant's cabin when the surgeon brought Jack 
to it. " You '11 find everything you want in 
there, I do suppose," said the steward. " If 
you don't find everything, you may call me. 
I '11 be just outside here." 

He had laid the clothes upon the lieutenant's 
berth. He closed the door as he went away, 
and Jack stood looking about him. It was 
very clean and neat. A cool, fresh smell per- 
vaded it. He laid his clothes aside and sat 
down upon the edge of the berth, and then, 
presently, lay down at length upon it. As he 
lay there, resting, he was very happy. He went 
over in his mind all that had passed that morn- 
ing. How beautiful it all was ! How kind was 
Colonel Parker ! Yes ; he was reaping his re- 
ward. He lay there, thinking and thinking. 
Everything seemed very bright and hopeful. 
His hands felt so comfortable ! He lifted them 
and looked at the bandages. How neatly they 
were stitched ! He could smell the salve. He 
was glad that Colonel Parker had seen his 
hands, and that they had looked so terribly 
sore. At last he roused himself and looked 
at the clothes, turning them over and feeling 
them. They were of fine brown cloth, and 
there were a pair of white stockings. " I wish 
I had something to rub up my shoes a trifle," 
thought Jack ; " they look mightily rusty and 

He got up and began dressing. There was 
a wash-bowl and a ewer of water in the cabin. 
Should he use them ? He stood, hesitating and 
looking at them. Yes, he would use them. 
He poured out some water from the pitcher, 
trying to make as little noise as possible. He 
washed his face with the towel, trying care- 
fully not to wet the bandages on his hands. 
Then he began dressing himself again. He 
stopped in the middle of dressing and lay 
down upon the berth, resting there and build- 


ing castles in the air. How fine it would be to 
be at Marlborough, not as a servant, but as 
somebody living in the house! He could hardly 
believe that he was to live at Marlborough. 
Suddenly the door was opened and the steward 
looked in. Jack sprang up from where he lay. 
" Be n't you dressed yet ? " said the steward. 
" Well, then, hurry as quick as you can. His 
honor wants you over in his own cabin. There 
is somebody aboard here who knows you. 
He 's been in his honor's cabin for ten minutes 
or more. He 's there now, and his honor wants 
you. 'T is a lawyer — a man named Burton. 
He says he knew you in Southampton." 

" A lawyer !" cried Jack. "Burton! Why, 
to be sure I know him. Are you sure that is 
who 't is ? Why, how does he come aboard 
here ? What is Lawyer Burton doing here in 
America ? " 

He was dressing himself rapidly as he talked. 
The steward came into the cabin, and closed 
the door after him. " Why," said he, " he 
came here naturally enough. The pirates sunk 
a vessel out at sea, and we picked up one of 
the boats down at the mouth' of the bay. 
There was a lot of redemptioners aboard, and 
this man was one of 'em. I heard him tell his 
honor the lieutenant that he had been knocked 
on the head and kidnapped." 

" Knocked on the head and kidnapped ! " 
said Jack. " Why, that was just what hap- 
pened to me." 

" Here, let me hold your coat for you," said 
the steward. He held the coat while Jack 
slipped his arms into the sleeves. " There ; 
now then, come straight along." He led the 
way across the great cabin to the colonel's own 
private cabin. He tapped on the door and 
then opened it. 

" Come in," Colonel Parker called out, and 
Jack entered. 

He saw the Attorney Burton immediately. 
Jack would not have recognized him if he had 
not known whom he was to see. He looked, 
somehow, very different from what he had been 
when Jack had seen him last. Jack could not 
tell what it was that had changed him. It was 
not the thin, stringy beard that covered his 
cheeks and chin that made him look so differ- 
ent. Perhaps it was more the rough, frowsy 




clothes he wore, and the baggy breeches tied 
at the knees. 

" Do you remember me, Master Jack ? " said 
the attorney. 

" Why, yes, I remember you well enough," 
said Jack ; " but, to be sure, I would n't have 
known you if the steward had not told me you 
were here." 

Colonel Parker was lying in his berth, a 
blanket spread over his knees and feet. Miss 
Eleanor Parker sat on the edge of the berth, 
holding his hand, and the lieutenant sat oppo- 
site in the narrow space. " Come hither," said 
Colonel Parker, reaching out his hand ; and as 
Jack came toward him he took the lad's ban- 
daged hand into his own and held it firmly. 
" Why did you not tell me who you were ? " 
said he. 

" Why, I did tell you, your honor," said Jack. 

" Don't call me ' your honor,' " said Colonel 
Parker; " call me 'sir,' or else ' Colonel Parker.' " 

" Yes, sir," said Jack, blushing. 

" But you did not tell me about yourself," 
said Colonel Parker. " You told me that you 
had been kidnapped, and that you had some 
fortune of your own in England. That was 
all you told me. How should I have known 
that you were Lady Dinah Wellbeck's nephew, 
and that you were heir to such a fortune as 
hath been left you, according to what this good 
fellow saith — a fortune of six or seven thou- 
sand pounds ? Why did you not tell me that?" 

"Why, I don't know, sir," said Jack. "I 
don't know why I did n't tell you, but I did n't 
think to do it." 

" Well, I am glad that now I shall know 
how to do for you." 

Jack was filled with happiness and elation as 
he stood with Colonel Parker holding his hand. 

They had been sailing up the river all the 
afternoon and all night. Now it was early in 
the morning. The breeze was very light, and 
Marlborough had been in sight for nearly an 
hour. They were still a long distance away, 
but they could see that the house had been 
aroused by the approach of the schooner. They 
could see people hurrying hither and thither, 
and then a number come running down to the 
landing from the house and the offices and the 

cabins, until a crowd had gathered at the end of 
the little wharf. The schooner drifted rather 
than sailed nearer and nearer. At last they 
could distinguish the individual figures upon 
the wharf. 

" There is thy mother, Nelly," said Colonel 
Parker. "There is thy mother, my dear." He 
spoke with trembling lips. The tears were run- 
ning down the young lady's cheeks, but she 
seemed hardly to notice them, and she was not 
crying. She wiped her eyes and her cheeks 
with her handkerchief and then waved it ; then 
wiped her eyes again ; then waved it again. 
" There is your Uncle Richard with her," said 
Colonel Parker ; and he also wiped his eyes as 
he spoke. 

Jack could see his former master standing 
close to the edge of the wharf. He himself 
stood a little to one side with the Attorney Bur- 
ton. He had an uncomfortable feeling of not 
sharing in all the joy of this home-bringing. 

The schooner floated nearer and nearer. A 
boat was pulling rapidly off from the shore. 
The anchor fell with a splash. They were close 
to the wharf. The boat from the shore was 
alongside. They were all cheering. Jack and 
Attorney Burton stood silent in the midst of 
it all. Colonel Parker turned to Jack, wiping 
the tears from his eyes. "Come," said he; 
" you shall go along with us. The others will 
follow later." 

The young lady did not see him or think 
of him. The crew helped her down into the 
boat, and Colonel Parker followed. Jack fol- 
lowed after him. Then the men pulled away 
toward the shore. In a moment they were at 
the wharf. The people were crowded close to 
the edge. Madam Parker had struggled so 
close to the edge that her brother-in-law and 
the Rev. Jonathan Jones were holding her. 
She was crying convulsively and hysterically, 
and reaching out her arms toward her daugh- 
ter. Jack sat looking up at all the faces look- 
ing down at them. The only unmoved one 
among all upon the wharf was Mr. Richard 
Parker. He stood calm and unruffled, with 
hardly a change of expression upon his hand- 
some face. The next moment the mother and 
daughter were in each other's arms, weeping 
and crying; and then a moment more, and 




Colonel Parker was with them, his arms around 
them both. 

Still Mr. Richard Parker stood calmly by; 
only now, when Jack looked, he saw that his 
eyes were fastened steadily upon him, but there 
was neither surprise nor interest in his face. 
Then Jack, too, went ashore. Colonel Parker 
saw him. " My dear," said he to his wife, 
" this is our dear Nelly's preserver. Here is the 
young man who brought her back." 

Madam Parker looked up, her eyes stream- 
ing with tears. She could not have seen Jack 
through them. Jack stood overcome and 
abashed. Through it all he was conscious that 
Mr. Parker was still looking steadily at him. 

" Ay, brother Richard," said Colonel Par- 
ker, wiping his eyes, " you know him, do you 
not ? Well, 't is to him that we owe it that our 
Nelly hath been brought back to us, for 't was 
he who brought her." 

Then Jack looked at his former master. He 
wondered what Mr. Parker would say. He said 

Chapter XLIV. 


We, in these times of America, protected by 
the laws and by the number of people about 
us, can hardly comprehend such a life as that 
of the American colonies in the early part of 
the last century, when it was possible for a 
pirate like Blackbeard to exist, and for the gov- 
ernor and the secretary of the province in which 
he lived to share his plunder, and to shelter 
and to protect him against the law. 

At that time the American colonists were in 
general a rough, rugged people, knowing no- 
thing of the finer things of life. They lived 
mostly in little settlements, separated by long 
distances from one another, so that they could 
neither make nor enforce laws to protect them- 
selves. Each man or little group of men had 
to depend upon his or their own strength to 
keep what belonged to them, and to prevent 
fierce men or groups of men from taking what 
was theirs away from them. 

It is the natural disposition of every one to 
get all that he can. Little children usually try 
to take away from others that which they want, 
and to keep it for their own. It is only by con- 

stant teaching that they learn that they must 
not do so ; that they must not take by force 
what does not belong to them. It is only by 
teaching and training that people learn to be 
honest, and not to take what is not theirs. 
When this teaching is not sufficient to make a 
man learn to be honest, or when there is some- 
thing in the man himself that makes him not 
able to learn, then he lacks only the oppor- 
tunity to seize upon the things he wants, just as 
he would do if he were a little child. 

In the colonies at the time, as has just been 
said, men were too few and scattered to pro- 
tect themselves against those who had made 
up their minds to take by force whatever they 

The usual means of communication between 
province and province was by water, in coast- 
ing-vessels. These small coasting- vessels were 
so defenseless, and the different colonial gov- 
ernments were so ill able to protect them, 
that those who chose to rob them could do it 
almost without danger to themselves. 

So it was that all the western world was in 
those days infested with armed bands of cruis- 
ing freebooters or pirates — men who had not 
been taught, or who had not been able to leam, 
that they must not take from others what be- 
longed to those others. These pirates used to 
stop merchant vessels, and take from them 
what they chose. 

Each province in those clays was ruled over 
by a royal governor appointed by the king. 
Each provincial governor was at one time free 
to do almost as he pleased in his own province. 
They were accountable only to the king and 
the home government; and England was so 
distant that they were really responsible almost 
to nobody but themselves. 

The governors were just as desirous of get- 
ting rich quickly, just as desirous of getting all 
that they could for themselves, as was anybody 
else, only they had been taught that it was not 
right to be actual pirates or robbers. They 
wanted to get rich easily and quickly, but they 
did not desire riches so much as to lead them 
to dishonor themselves in their own opinion, 
and in the opinion of others, by gratifying the 
desire. They would even have stopped the 
pirates from doing unlawful acts, if possible ; 

6 5 6 



but their provincial governments were too 
weak to prevent the freebooters from robbing 
merchant vessels, or to punish them when they 
came ashore. The provinces had no navies, 
and they really had no armies ; neither were 
there enough people living within the commu- 
nities to enforce the laws against those stronger 
and fiercer men who were not honest. 

After the things the pirates seized from mer- 
chant vessels were once stolen they were alto- 
gether lost. Hardly ever did the owner apply 
for them, for it would have been useless. The 
stolen goods and merchandise lay in the store- 
houses of the pirates, seemingly without any 
owner excepting the pirates — who did not own 
them. The governors and the secretaries of 
the colonies would not dishonor themselves by 
piracy against merchant vessels; but it did not 
seem so wicked after the goods were stolen to 
take a part of that which seemed to have no 

A child is taught that it is a very naughty 
thing to take by force, for instance, a lump of 
sugar from another child; but when a naughty 
child has seized the sugar from another, and 
taken it around the corner, and that other child 
from whom it was seized has gone home cry- 
ing, it does not seem so wrong for a third 
child to take a bite of the sugar when it is of- 
fered to him, even if he believes it has been 
taken from some one else. 

It was just so, no doubt, that it did not seem 
so wicked to Governor Eden and Secretary 
Knight of North Carolina to take a part of the 
booty that Blackbeard had stolen. It did not 
even seem very wicked to compel Blackbeard 
to give them a part of what was not his, and 
which seemed to have no owner. 

However, in Governor Eden's time the col- 
onies had begun to be so thickly peopled that 
the laws in their turn gradually became 
stronger and stronger to protect men in the 
possession of what was theirs. Governor Eden 
was the last of the colonial governors who was 
a friend of the pirates. And Blackbeard was 
the last of the pirates who, with his banded 
men, was savage and powerful enough to come 
and go as he chose among the people whom 
he plundered. 

Virginia at that time was the greatest and 

the richest of all the American colonies. 
Upon the further side of North Carolina was 
the province of South Carolina, also strong and 
rich. It was these two colonies that suffered 
most from Blackbeard, and it began to be that 
the honest men who lived in them could no 
longer endure to be plundered. 

The merchants and traders and others who 
suffered cried out loudly for protection — so 
loudly that the governors of these provinces 
could not help hearing them. 

Governor Eden was petitioned to act against 
the pirates; but he would do nothing, for he 
was very friendly toward Blackbeard — just as 
a child who has had a taste of the stolen sugar 
might feel friendly toward the child who gave 
it to him. 

At last the governor of Virginia, finding that 
the governor of North Carolina would do no- 
thing, took the matter into his own hands, and 
issued a proclamation offering a reward of one 
hundred pounds for Blackbeard, alive or dead, 
and smaller sums for the other pirates. 

Governor Spottiswood had the right to issue 
the proclamation as he chose, but he had no 
right to commission Lieutenant Maynard to 
take down an armed force into the neighboring 
province, to attack the pirates in the waters of 
the North Carolina sounds. It was all a part 
of the rude and lawless condition of the colo- 
nies at the time that such a thing could have 
been done. 

The governor's proclamation against the pi- 
rates was issued upon the eleventh day of No- 
vember. It was read in the churches the 
Sunday following, and was posted upon the 
doors of all the government custom-offices in 
lower Virginia. Lieutenant Maynard, in the 
boats that Colonel Parker had already fitted 
out to go against the pirates, set sail upon the 
seventeenth of the month for Ocracock. Five 
days later the battle with the pirates was fought. 

On the evening of the twenty-second, the two 
vessels under command of Lieutenant May- 
nard came into the mouth of Ocracock Inlet, 
and there dropped anchor. A New York ves- 
sel was lying within the inlet. It had been 
there over a night and a day, and the captain 
and Blackbeard had become very good friends. 
The same night that Maynard came into the 




Vol. XXII.— 83. 


6 5 8 


inlet a wedding was held on the shore. A 
number of men and women had come up the 
beach in ox-carts and sledges ; some had come 
in boats from more distant points and across 
the water. 

The captain of the New Yorker and Black- 
beard went ashore together a little after dark. 
The New York captain had been aboard of the 
pirate's sloop all the latter part of the afternoon. 

It was nearly dark when they stepped ashore 
on the beach. 

The people had already begun to dance in 
an open shed fronting the shore. There were 
fires of pine-knots in front of the building, light- 
ing up the interior with a red glare. There 
was a negro playing a fiddle somewhere inside, 
and the shed was filled with a crowd of gro- 
tesque figures, dancing men and women. Now 
and then they called with loud voices as they 
danced, and the squeaking of the fiddle sounded 
incessantly through the noise of voices and the 
stamping and shuffling of feet. 

Captain Teach and the New York captain 
stood looking on. 

The young woman who had just been mar- 
ried approached the two. She had been dan- 

" Hi, Captain, won't you dance with me ? " 
said she to Blackbeard. 

"Why, to be sure I '11 dance with you; that 
I will ! " said the pirate captain. 

The other men and women who had been 
standing around drew away, and in a little 
while the floor was pretty well cleared. One 
could see the negro now; he sat on a barrel 
at the end of the room. He grinned, show- 
ing his white teeth, and, without stopping in 
his fiddling, scraped his bow harshly across the 
strings, and then instantly changed the tune 
to a lively jig. Blackbeard jumped up into 
the air, and clapped his heels together, giving 
as he did so a sharp, short yell. Then he be- 
gan instantly dancing grotesquely and violently. 

The woman danced opposite to him, this way 
and that, with her knuckles on her hips. Every- 
body was laughing loudly at Blackbeard's gro- 
tesque antics. They laughed again and again, 
clapping their hands. The negro scraped away 
on his fiddle, and they danced and danced. 
At last the woman burst out laughing, and 
stopped. Blackbeard again jumped up in the 
air, and clapped his heels. Again he yelled, 
and as he did so he struck his heels upon the 
floor and spun round. Once more everybody 
burst out laughing, clapping their hands. The 
negro stopped fiddling. 

" Hi, Captain ! " called one of the men. 
" Maynard 's out yonder in the inlet. Jack 
Bishop 's just come across from t' other side. 
He says the King's man hailed him, and asked 
for a pilot to fetch him in." 

" Well, luck to him, and he can't come in 
quick enough for me ! " said Blackbeard. 

" Why, Captain," said another man, " will ye 
fight him to-morrow ? " 

" Ay," said the pirate; " if they can get in to 
me, why, I '11 try to give 'em what they seek. 
As for a pilot, I tell ye what 't is. If any man 
hereabouts goes out there to pilot that villain 
in, 't will be the worst day's work he ever did 
in all of his life. 'T won't be fit for him to live 
in these parts of America if I am living here at 
the same time." There was renewed laughter. 

" Suppose you are done for, to-morrow, Cap- 
tain," said the New York captain; " what then ? " 

"Why, if I am," said Blackbeard, "I am; 
and that 's all there is of it." 

" Your wife '11 be a rich widdy then," was 
the reply. 

" She '11 be no richer than she is now," said 

" Well, she knows where you 've hid your 
money, anyways ; does n't she, Captain ? " 

" Nobody knows where that money is but 
me," said Blackbeard; "and nobody else shall 
ever know it." 

(To be continued.) 


By M. B. 

,. - 


The finest flower that blows 

Is the lady rose; 
Pink, or white, or crimson, 

Everybody knows 
That where her beautiful 

face is seen 
The rose is queen. 
— And little lady Alice, 

Herself so fine and fair, 
Looks like a dainty fairy 
With a white rose in her 

But there 's a shy, wild cousin — 

The delicate sweet-brier ; 
She blossoms in the wilderness, 

And careless folk pass by her ; 
Yet butterflies have found her, 
And bees come buzzing round her 

With covetous desire; 
While little barefoot Katy 
(Who never, I suppose, 
Has plucked a lady rose) 
Takes home a bunch of sweetness 
To poor blind Annie's room, 

That brightens all the darksome place 
With sudden sense of bloom, 
And fills her long and lonely hours 
With happy dreams of birds and flowers 

' : -- 1 ,^:^». 

'to-morrow is composition day. 


Nanny has a hopeful way — 

Bright and busy Nanny. 
When I cracked the cup to-day, 
She said in her hopeful way, 
"It's only cracked— don't fret, I pray.' ; 
Sunny, cheery Nanny ! 

Nanny has a hopeful way, 

So good and sweet and canny. 
When I broke the cup to-day, 

She said in her hopeful way, 
" Well, 't was cracked, I 'm glad to say.' 
Kindly, merry Nanny ! 

Nanny has a hopeful way — 

Quite right, little Nanny. 
Cups will crack and break alway; 
Fretting does n't mend or pay. 
Do the best you can, I say, 
Busy, loving Nanny. 



By James Otis. 

\Begttn in the Ji/ay number. ] 

Chapter III. 


The policeman marched Teddy along while 
he whistled a remarkably merry tune, which 
the young prisoner thought out of place. 

If anybody had shown sufficient curiosity 
regarding him to have asked Teddy if he 
had any friends in the city, his reply would 
have been that he had none ; but he would 
have been wrong, as events proved. 

Master Joseph Williams, otherwise known as 
Carrots, had witnessed the affray from a dis- 
tance, but was not able to take an active part 
in it during the brief time it lasted, owing to 
the fact of his being occupied just at that mo- 
ment in blacking a customer's boots. But 
when Teddy had been dragged less than a 
block on the road to his " dungeon cell " by 
the whistling officer, he had completed his task, 
and, what was more to the purpose, received 
therefor the amount of money which it was 
customary to expect. 

Now this boy from Saranac had no claim 
upon the red-headed, blackened-nosed young 
newsboy ; but despite the fact that Carrots's face 
was not cleanly, and that his general appear- 
ance was rather disreputable, he was ever ready 
to assist others. 

Slinging his box over his shoulder, he ran 
to the scene of the assault just in time to rescue 
Teddy's stock of newspapers from beneath the 
feet of a dray-horse, and followed with all speed 
after the officer and prisoner. 

Teddy, plunged into a very " Slough of 
Despond," was suffering himself to be taken 
through the streets like a criminal, when he 
was startled by hearing a hoarse whisper di- 
rectly behind him; at the same instant his hand 
was grasped by another. 

" Say, can't you wriggle out er that cop's fist ? " 

Carrots asked. But Teddy shook his head 

; ' This is what comes of bein' brought up in 
the country," the boot-black muttered to him- 
self regretfully. 

" Don't lose your pluck," he said aloud. 
" I 'm goin' to stand by you through this thing, 
'cause it 's all come out er that Skip Jellison's 
gang, an' he 's forever pickin' on somebody." 

" I don't know what you can do," Teddy 
replied mournfully, speaking in an ordinary 
tone. Then, glancing around, the policeman 
noticed that his prisoner was holding a con- 
versation with a seeming friend. 

" Now, then, what do you want, young 
chap ? " the officer asked. 

" Nothin' at all," said Carrots. " It ain't ag'in' 
the law to speak to a fellow, is it, when he 's 
walkin' through the streets ? " 

" Is this boy a friend of yours ? " 

" Bet your life he is, off'cer!" Carrots replied 
earnestly. " Why, we 're jest like twins. You 
don't s'pose I 'm goin' to see him lugged away 
when he ain't been doin' nothin' at all, do you?" 

" If you boys who loaf near City Hall keep 
on doing this ' nothing at all ' business, more of 
you will be arrested before a great while," the 
officer said grimly. " You seem to think that 
park 's made for you to fight in, but it won't 
take long to show you you 're mistaken." 

" But this fellow was n't fightin'," Carrots re- 
plied in a positive tone. " I was only a little 
ways off when Skip Jellison come up, hit him 
a clip, an' knocked his papers out er his hands. 
What kind of a duffer would he be if he had n't 
tried to square things ? The only trouble is, he 
did n't have a chance to do any fightin' before 
that crooked-nosed park guard got hold of him. 
Say, it don't seem to me jest right that a reg'lar 
policeman should help that gray thing along in 
the way he 's actin'." 

" Why don't you come up before the com- 
missioners, and give them an idea of how the 




police force of the city ought to be run ? " the 
officer asked sarcastically. 

" Well, I would ; but you see, I ain't got the 
time. When a fellow 's doin' sich a business ez 
I am, it keeps him right down to dots," Carrots 
replied gravely. 

" It 's really a pity, the way you must be 
rushed," the officer said, with a laugh; and, 
made bold by this apparent friendliness, Car- 
rots ventured to make a request. 

" Say, where are you goin' to take him ? " 

" Down to the station-house, of course." 

" Well," said Carrots, " it would n't be any 
harm if I walked alongside of him, an' talked 
over a little business, would it ? " 

" It 's nothing to me, so long as you don't 
help him escape." 

" You need n't be 'fraid. I would n't raise 
my hand 'gainst you, 'cause you 're a pretty 
good kind of a man; an' that sort is mighty 
scarce 'round this part of the city." 

" I suppose, now that I have won your good 
opinion, it won't be long before I 'm a captain, 
will it ? " the officer asked laughingly. 

" If I had my way, you 'd be a general be- 
fore night ; but I ain't standin' in with the com- 
missioners like I ought ter be," Carrots said, 
with mock gravity. 

Then — for they were getting dangerously 
near the station — he whispered to Teddy: 

" Look here, old man; you want ter keep your 
upper lip mighty stiff jest now, an' I '11 get 
you out er this scrape somehow. I s'pose 
there '11 have to be a reg'lar trial down to the 
Tombs, and I '11 bring the fellows there to 
swear you did n't do anything. We '11 show 
up that Skip Jellison gang in great shape to- 
morrow mornin', 'less I can coax you off from 
this cop." 

" It 's no use to try it," Teddy replied mourn- 
fully. " I reckon I '11 have to go to prison." 

" Now see here, that 's just the way ! You 
fellows from the country ain't got any sand 
about you, that 's what 's the matter. Don't 
get down in the mouth over this thing, 'cause, 
as I said before, I 'm goin' to see you through." 

" But what can you do against a lot of po- 
licemen ? " 

" Wait and see. P'r'aps I have n't lived in 
this city a good many years, an' don't know 

how to fix things ! " Carrots replied, as if he 
were positive how the matter might be ar- 
ranged; yet at the same time he had not the 
remotest idea what it would be possible to do 
toward aiding this boy. 

Teddy was not reassured by the remark. 

Although a stranger in the city, he knewthat 
young Carrots would not be able to do very 
much to help him, and felt sure his business 
career was ruined. 

" How much money have you got ? " Carrots 

" Not more 'n ten cents. You see, I had jest 
begun to sell papers when they nabbed me. 
How much do you want ? " 

" I 've got enough. I was only thinkin' 
'bout you. Here, take this; it may come in 
handy before mornin' " ; and the boot-black 
pressed several coins into the prisoner's hand. 

" I don't want it," Teddy replied, as he at- 
tempted in vain to return the money. " You 
must n't give your cash away like this; an' be- 
sides, what good will it do me ? " 

"That 's jest what we don't know. It 's allers 
better to have a little stuff in your pocket, no 
matter what happens. I 've got your papers, 
an' am goin' to sell 'em, so I '11 get my money 
back. You jest let me run this thing, an' see 
how quick we '11 have it shipshape." 

There was no opportunity for further discus- 
sion, for by this time the three had arrived at 
the door of the station-house, and Carrots, who 
had a wholesome dread of such places, made 
no attempt to enter. 

" I '11 see you to-night if they hold on to 
you ; but if the sergeant turns out an easy 
kind of a fellow, an' lets you go, come right up 
to City Hall to find me." 

" I reckon there won't be any chance of his 
getting on the streets this afternoon," the offi- 
cer said, as he halted for a moment to give his 
prisoner's friend a bit of kindly advice. " He '11 
have to go down to the Tombs for trial in the 
morning, and if you boys can prove that he 
was n't really fighting, but only trying to pre- 
vent another fellow from taking his papers, 
he '11 stand a good show of slipping off. I '11 
see that the case is n't shoved very hard." 

" You 're a dandy ! Next time you want 
your boots shined, come right where I am, an' 

i8 95 -: 


if I don't do it for nothin' it '11 be 'cause my 
blackin' has run out!" Carrots cried enthusiasti- 
cally; and then, wheeling suddenly, he ran at 
full speed in the opposite direction. 

" It seems to me I 'm gettin' a pretty big job 
on my hands," he muttered to himself when he 
was at Printing House 
Square once more. " I 've 
promised to help that 
boy out er this scrape, 
an' don't see how it 's 
goin' to be done. The 
fellows won't dare to go 
up and say anything 
against Skip Jellison, 
'cause he 's sich a terrible 
fighter: guess he can 
get the best of anybody 
'round here in less 'n 
three rounds. I wish I 
dared to tackle him ! I 
don't b'lieve he can do 
as much as he makes 
out." Then Carrots sud- 
denly bethought himself 
of the papers which yet 
remained under his arm, 
and added, "Jiminy ! I 
'most forgot 'bout these. 
It 's time they were 
worked off, or else 
they '11 be too old to 
sell " ; and soon he 
was crying the news 

Half an hour later, 
the substitute news- 
boy was hailed by 
Teenie Massey, who 
asked : 

" What are you up 
to now, Carrots ? 
Shifted business ? " 

" Say, Teenie, was you 'round here when 
Skip Jellison hit that fellow from the country? " 

" Yes ; an' if the cops had n't come along so 
soon, Skip would have been sorry he tackled 
sich a job. I b'lieve that new fellow can 

" So do I ; but he did n't stand any show at 


all, the way things were. These are his papers, 
an' I 'm sellin' 'em for him." 

" Where is he now ? " 


" Well, that settles him." 

" I ain't so sure of it. You know, an' I know, 

'now, then, what do you want, young chap?' the officer asked.' 

an' all the rest of the fellows know, that Skip 
Jellison did n't have any business to run 'round 
punchin' him just 'cause he was a new hand. 
I 'm goin' to see if there ain't some chance of 
gettin' him clear." 

" What '11 you do ? Break into the station- 
house, an' pull him out?" Teenie asked ex- 




citedly, believing any of his friends capable 
of doing such a thing, because of the style of 
reading in which he indulged, wherein such 
deeds are often performed, in print, by the 
smallest and most feeble boys. 

" Well, I don't count on doin' quite so well 

. *: " "^v 

■ ; 

■ ■i 


j.4: > jj 

w^ p _____ 



as that," Carrots replied, thoughtfully rubbing 
his nose once more, and thereby adding to the 
smudge of blacking which already nearly cov- 
ered his face. " I kind er 'lowed we 'd get a 
lot of the fellows, an' go down to court ter- 
morrow mornin' when he 's brought up, so 's to 
tell the story jest as it is. The judge is bound 

to let him off then, an' I would n't be s'prised 
if Skip Jellison found hisself in a scrape." 
Teenie shook his head very decidedly. 
" Don't think it can be done, eh ? " 
•' Who 're you goin' to get to tell that yarn in 
court ? Skip would about knock the head off 

er the fellow 
that did him 
that turn ! " 

" I know 
that. He is 
terrible! He's 
jest terrible ! " 
Carrots re- 
plied reflec- 
tively. "But I 
don't see why 
it is the fel- 
lows 'round 
here let Skip 
jump on 'em 
so ! If three 
or four of us 
turned to, we 
could thump 
him, and do 
it easy ; and 
yet all hands 
lie down like 
lambs when- 
ever he hap- 
pens to want 
to wink." 

"Why don't 
you give him 
a pounding?" 
" You see, 
I can't do it 
alone. I 'd 
be willin' to 
go in if any- 
body 'd start 

RESIDENCE. (SEE PAGE 668.) J~ with me 

'cause it 's got pretty nigh time somethin' was 
done, or else that fellow '11 own the whole 
town. Say, will you go down to court with 
me, an' tell what you know 'bout this thing ? " 

Teenie gazed at his toes several seconds be- 
fore replying, and then said : 

" I don't know whether I '11 have time, Car- 



66 5 

rots; but I '11 see you to-night, an' let you 

Carrots muttered to himself as his acquain- 
tance was lost to view among the crowd of busy 
pedestrians : 

" That fellow 's pretty nigh scared out er his 
life 'bout Skip. There ain't any use thinkin' 
he '11 help in this trouble." 

Half an hour later, when Carrots had dis- 
posed of the stock of papers purchased by 
Teddy, and was congratulating himself, Skip 
Jellison approached, looking very fierce as he 
asked in a threatening tone : 

" See here, Carrots, what is it you are up 
to now ? " 

" Me? " Carrots replied, in surprise. " Why, 
I 'm shinin' boots same 's ever." 

" Now don't try to be too smart ! You know 
what I mean." 

" Well, if I do I 'm a duffer. What are you 
drivin' at, Skip, anyhow ? " 

" Ain't you been tellin' what you was goin' to 
do to help that fellow from the country that I 
settled this forenoon ? " 

" Did n't strike me as if you settled him very 
much. If he 'd had half a chance, he 'd 'a' 
settled you." 

" You 've got to be took down a peg or two," 
Skip said threateningly, as he doubled his fist 
and brandished it before Carrots's face. 

" Want ter git another fellow 'rested, do you ? 
Well, I ain't goin' to fight." 

" You 'd better not, if you know what 's good 
for yourself." 

" I won't scrap 'cause I don't want ter git 
jailed ; but you can't frighten me, no matter 
how bad you jump 'round." 

" Look out for yourself, that 's all I 'm say- 
in'," Master Jellison replied angrily. " I 'm 
watchin' you, an' the very first time you go to 
meddlin' with that fellow from the country, 
what 's got to be drove out this city, I '11 
make you sorry for it ! " 

" It 's very polite o' you to give me a 
friendly warnin'," Carrots replied, in the most 
innocent and pleasant tone. 

Skip had nothing more to say, but walked 
away with a dignity befitting one who con- 
siders it his mission in life to regulate the busi- 
ness affairs of a large city. 
Vol. XXII.— 84. 

Chapter IV. 


Although Carrots had pretended that Skip's 
threats neither frightened nor disturbed him, he 
was thoroughly uncomfortable in mind. 

He knew by past experience what Master 
Jellison could and would do, with no provoca- 
tion whatever save only a desire to exercise 
that authority which he had assumed. 

Carrots believed, however, that in case of 
an encounter with a boy who was ready and 
forced to defend himself, Skip would not prove 
so great a master of the "manly art of self- 
defense" as he claimed to be. 

But such a champion had not as yet been 

Teenie Massey had chanced to be in Brook- 
lyn about a week before the arrival of Teddy 
in the city, and upon his return home he had 
stated that he had seen Master Jellison attack 
a boy not nearly so large as himself, on Pine- 
apple Street in that city, and receive a sound 

" He was n't in it at all, from the time they 
begun," Teenie had stated to his friends ; and 
on more than one occasion he had referred to 
this defeat in the presence of Skip himself. 

It is but fair to say, however, that Skip 
Jellison positively denied the truth of any such 
statement. In explanation of the blackened 
eye and badly swollen lip he brought from 
Brooklyn, he announced that he had been set 
upon by a crowd of young ruffians. 

" Of course a fellow 's goin' to get some clips 
when he tackles a dozen or fifteen fellows at 
once," Skip explained to an admiring audi- 
ence, shortly after Master Massey's story had 
been noised about the streets; "but every one 
of 'em got it worse 'n I did, an' it was n't 
more 'n five minutes before all hands were run- 
nin' lickertysplit up Fulton Street. I reckon 
they did n't stop till they got to Prospect Park. 
Teenie wants to make out a good story; but 
it 's all a whopper, an' he knows it." 

Now, although Carrots believed that Master 
Massey had told the truth in regard to what 
really occurred in Brooklyn, Carrots did not 
feel competent to take upon himself the task 
of cowing the bully; and he felt reasonably 




certain Skip would carry his threats into effect 
should occasion arise. 

Carrots was also quite positive the occasion 
would arise, because he did not intend to de- 
sert Teddy. 

" I 'm goin' right ahead with what I 'greed 
to do," he said to himself. " If Skip wants to 
thump me for it, I s'pose I '11 have to let him." 

These reflections were interrupted by Reddy 
Jackson, who asked as he approached and 
halted in front of Carrots : 

" Seen Skip lately ? " 

" He jest went away. Been 'round, kind er 
reg'latin' the town. Goin' to rest hisself, 'cause 
he 's 'most played out workin' so hard." 

" Did he tell you anything ? " 

" Yes ; thought I was rather meddlin' with 
his business : but I don't see how that is." 

"Now look here, Carrots; I 'm a friend of 
yours, an' don't want ter see any trouble come 
out er this thing. Skip 's jest wild 'bout what 
you 've told the other fellows, an' I reckon he '11 
do as he says if you try to help that fellow 
what got 'rested." 

" You 'lowed you was a friend of mine, 
did n't you, Reddy ? " 

" That 's what I said." 

"Well, then, why don't you show it by helpin' 
me stand up 'gainst sich a bully as Skip Jelli- 
son is, 'stead of comin' here and tellin' me 
what he 's goin' to do ? To hear some of you 
fellows talk, anybody 'd think he was a reg'lar 
rhinoceros huntin' 'round to eat folks. Now 
it 's jest like this : I 've got to help that fellow, 
'cause I promised him." 

" But you don't even know who he is." 

" I did n't ask him to write out a history 
'bout hisself, an' swear to it, so 's I could tell 
you fellows ; but he 's like all the rest of us, got 
to hustle for a livin', an' has come down here 
to do it. Now what business is that of Skip 
Jellison's? He does n't own this town — ain't 
even got a mortgage on it — yet he makes out 
this fellow can't stay, an' tries to lick him. 
Now I s'pose you think it 's mighty smart to 
try an' shove that country fellow down ? " 

" You don't know anything about it, Car- 
rots. He put on more frills this mornin' than 
you ever saw in a circus procession. We ain't 
goin' to stand that; of course not." 

" I s'pose it broke your heart 'cause his face 
was clean, did n't it?" And it was apparent from 
Carrots's tone that he was losing his temper. 

" Oh, well, go ahead, an' see how you '11 
come out, that 's all. I jest thought I 'd tell 
you, so 's you would n't get into a fuss with 
Skip; but if this is the way you 're goin' on, 
why, let her flicker, for all I care." 

" I 'm much obliged to you for bein' so 
willin'; an' when I want another favor I '11 call 
'round an' see you," Carrots replied, as he turned 
on his heel, while Reddy walked rapidly away. 

" It looks as if I 'd got to put this thing 
through alone," Carrots said to himself; " an' 
if that 's so, it '11 be a good idea for me to keep 
away from where Skip is, 'cause if he should 
get a whack at me, I 'm afraid I would n't be 
in a condition to do much of anything for a 
day or two." 

Carrots visited all of his acquaintances in 
whom he felt he could confide, trying to 
enlist their sympathies in the work which he 
had undertaken. 

Unfortunately for his purpose, however, he 
did not find any who were willing, simply be- 
cause of the stranger, to brave the doughty 
Skip's wrath; and nearly every one advised Car- 
rots to " give it up before he got into trouble." 

Not until nearly nightfall was the well-dis- 
posed boot-black willing to cease his efforts in 
this particular direction. 

Then he repaired to a certain restaurant on 
Baxter street, where he appeared to be well 
acquainted with the waiters, and called for 
a hearty meal of corned beef and potatoes, 
at the expense of fifteen cents — an unusual 
amount for him, as could have been told by 
the remark which the waiter made. 

" Ain't you spreadin' yourself some to-night, 
Carrots ? " 

" Well, it does look a little that way ; but, 
you see, I 've got a lot of business on hand, 
and I need to be braced up a bit." 

" Bought out some other boot-black, or 
found a bigger line of customers ? " 

" Well, no ; I 'm buyin' stocks now. The 
Wall Street men are kind er 'fraid I '11 down 
'em, air they 're makin' me hustle." 

» Oh! — gone into the Stock Exchange, eh?" 

" Well, I have n't been any further than the 


gallery yet ; but that 's all right. You don't want 
ter put in a piece of pie with this corned beef, 
an' take the chance of a rise in Western Union 
for the pay, do you ? " 

" No, I guess not. It would be too much 
like speculatin'." 

" Well, I did n't s'pose you would ; but I 'm 
comin' 'round here in the mornin' to give your 
boss some points about running his business," 
Carrots replied ; and, handing over his money, 
he walked with a majestic air into the street. 

Having thus refreshed the inner man, Carrots 
bent his way in the direction of the station-house. 

It was his intention to ask for an interview 
with the prisoner who had been arrested in 
City Hall Park, and he felt extremely doubtful 
whether this request would be granted, until 
he entered the building and recognized in the 
sergeant behind the desk an old customer. 

His surprise at meeting a friend, when he 
had expected to see the stern visage of a 
mere servant of justice, was quite as great as it 
was pleasing ; and he marched up to the desk 
and said familiarly : 

" If I 'd knowed you was here, I 'd 'a' come 

" I don't want my boots shined now. See 
you outside in the morning," said the sergeant. 

" But I ain't shinin' ; I 'm on business." 

" Oh, you are, eh ? Well, what 's up ? " 

" One of the pleecemen 'round City Hall 
arrested a fellow this mornin' what had jest 
walked down from Saranac; an' it 's all wrong, 
I tell you, — all wrong." 

" He 's a friend of yours, I suppose ? " 

" Well, you can't exactly call him that. I 
never spoke to him till jest before this thing 
happened. I want ter git him right out, on 
'portant business." 

" I 'm afraid you will have to w r ait a little 
while, and explain the whole affair to the judge 
in the morning. I have n't 'any authority to 
do a thing like that." 

" Could n't you fix it with the judge ? " 

" No, indeed," the officer replied laughingly. 
"The best way is for you to go to the court your- 
self, and explain how it happened, unless he is 
really guilty, in which case I suppose he will 
have to go to the Island. I fancy a week up 
there would n't do him any harm." 


" But, you see, it was jest this way " — and 
Carrots assumed an attitude such as one takes 
when about to begin a long story. 

" Never mind it now. I can't stop to lis- 
ten ; and, besides, it would n't do any good." 

Carrots looked up as if surprised that an old 
friend should assume a dictatorial tone, and 
then, suddenly remembering that he had an- 
other favor to ask, added : 

" Well, you can let me see him, can't you ? " 

" What good will that do ? " 

" Why, I jest want to brace him up a little. 
You see, he 's pretty green, an' he must be 
feelin' awful bad by this time. I won't stay 
more 'n five minutes, if you '11 let me see him." 

" All right ; go down-stairs. You '11 find 
him in one of the cells ; and if the turnkey says 
anything, tell him I sent you." 

Carrots did not wait for further instructions ; 
but, fearful lest the permission should be with- 
drawn, hurried down the stairs at once, and 
was making a tour of the cells with the pur- 
pose of finding his friend, when the officer in 
charge stopped him. 

" What do you want here ? " 

" The sergeant sent me down to see a friend 
of mine, that 's all ; an' I 'm lookin' for him." 

"The boy they brought in this noon?" 

"That 's the very one." 

" He 's over there ; third cell from the end." 

Carrots walked quickly to the place looked 
in through the grated door, and saw Teddy 
lying on a wooden bench, which served the 
double purpose of a seat and a bed. The 
young prisoner's face was covered by his hands. 

" Come, old man," Carrots said soothingly, 
" you ought ter have more sand than to give up 
like this. Besides, ain't I here to help you ? " 

Teddy leaped to his feet immediately, and 
came to the door, through which Carrots thrust 
a very grimy hand as he said : 

"Shake hands! Brace up, an' have some 
style about you ! I 've been 'tendin' to your 
business pretty nigh ever since you was gone, 
an' thought I 'd jest run in to let you know 
everything will be all right; but you '11 have 
to stay here till mornin'." 

" Till mornin' ? " Teddy repeated in dismay. 

" Yes ; that ain't sich a very long while, an' 
it '11 take me till then to get things fixed." 



•' How did they happen to let you in ? " 

" Oh, you see, the sergeant is an old friend of 
mine. I 've blacked his boots, on an' off, for 
'most a year." 

Then Carrots, with the hope of cheering his 
friend, began to explain what might be done to- 
ward effecting the prisoner's release ; and when 
it was time to bring the interview to a close, 
he had so far succeeded that Teddy was really 
quite hopeful, believing there was no serious 
obstacle in the way of his freedom. 

Bidding Teddy adieu, Carrots left the station- 

It was now so nearly dark that Carrots turned 
in the direction of his own home, for the pur- 
pose of gaining as much rest as possible before 
beginning what looked like a hard piece of work. 

Now Carrots was a householder in his own 
right, or at least by right of discovery. 

More than one of his acquaintances had been 
eager to know where he lived ; but he avoided 
all questions on the subject, save to one person 
— Teenie Massey. 

In addition to his being a trusted friend, 
Teenie lived with his parents; therefore, when 
Carrots revealed the secret, it was with the 
knowledge that Master Massey would not wish 
to share the dwelling with him. 

To avoid interference, Carrots always ap- 
proached his home in the most cautious man- 
ner, and this occasion was no exception. 

He walked leisurely along in the direction of 
Canal Street, as if going nowhere in particular, 
for the purpose of misleading any friends whom 
he might meet; and, on arriving at an alleyway 
which ran between two shops, he halted for an 
instant to make sure the coast was clear. 

He recognized no one in the immediate vi- 
cinity, and, wheeling sharply around, ran swiftly 
up the narrow passage, climbed over a board 
fence, and dropped lightly into a yard in the 
rear of a business establishment. 

Here was an enormous collection of packing- 
cases, some stacked in regular order, and others 
lying carelessly around wherever they might 
have chanced to fall when taken from the shop 
by the employees. To Carrots, however, the 
yard was as familiar as any of the city streets. 

He knew exactly where each case should be, 
unless, perchance, there had been some addi- 

tion made to the collection since his departure 
from home; and, although it was dark, pro- 
ceeded without difficulty until he arrived at one 
corner of the yard, where, by pulling out an 
unusually large box, he disclosed a narrow pas- 
sage running along the side of the fence. 

It was not possible to walk upright through 
this opening, owing to the lumber above; but, 
once Master Carrots arrived at the further end, 
he found as snug and comfortable a dwelling 
as it would be reasonable for any boy in Mas- 
ter Carrots's walk of life to desire. 

Two cases, facing each other at an interval 
sufficiently wide for a small person to enter, 
formed an apartment four or five feet square ; 
and, although it was impossible for Carrots 
even to stand erect, he could sit or lie down 
in a most comfortable fashion. 

A small bundle of straw, taken from some 
of the other cases, made a bed for the boot- 
black ; and directly opposite this impromptu 
couch were Carrots's household treasures. 

A bottle which served as a candlestick, a 
cigar-box as pantry in case he chanced to lay 
in a stock of provisions, a well-worn brush, sev- 
eral empty blacking-boxes, and a miscellaneous 
collection of odds and ends, were packed in 
one corner with the utmost neatness. 

On arriving at his home, Carrots lighted the 
candle in order to render the apartment more 
cheerful ; and then he sat down with his chin in 
his hands, trying to decide how it would be 
possible to keep the promise made to Teddy. 

Before he had succeeded in solving the prob- 
lem, however, a shrill whistle was heard from 
the alleyway, and Carrots muttered to himself 
as he crawled through the passage out from 
among the boxes : 

" I wonder what Teenie Massey wants ? A 
fellow that 's got so much business on his hands 
as I have can't 'ford to waste a great deal of 
time with visitors." 

" Hi ! Carrots, are you there ?" Teenie asked. 

" Of course I am ! Where do you s'pose a 
fellow would be at this time of night?" 

" I 'm comin' over ! " 

" Well, come, then ; an' don't make so much 
noise about it. Nobody knows who may be 
'round here " ; and Master Carrots retraced his 
steps to the packing-case dwelling. 

(To be continued.) 


By A. S. Webber. 

his is 1he way we study hard, 

.Study hard, study hard 
"Jhis is the way we study hi 
1 our vacation 's ne< 

i mmf 



By Harriet F. Blodgett. 

Once upon a time — a cat 

Might be a princess then, 
And thistles growing in the field 

Could turn to armed men. 
They dared not stoop to pluck a flower, 

When walking in the wood, 
For fear, in taking it, they 'd rob 

Some fairy of her hood. 

Once upon a time — a bean 

Could grow so high and far, 
That when they clambered up the vine 

'T would lead them to a star. 
And when they planted apple-trees, — 

You need not to be told — 
Why, just as likely then as not, 

The fruit would be of gold. 



By Harriet F. Blodgett. 

Over the hills from far away 
He comes at closing of the day 

To shut the children's eyes ; 
And his hair is gold with sunset light, 
And his voice is soft as dreams at night, 

And he gathers lullabies. 

One he takes from the bumblebee, 
Singing, humming drowsily; 
And the robin gives him one; 

And down beneath the grasses hid 
He robs the little katydid, 
And leaves her there alone. 

Then over all the sunset lands 
He scatters down his golden sands 

And spreads his soft, gray wings; 
And every little sleepy head 
Goes nid-nid-nodding off to bed, 

Because the sandman sings. 

jyou go a-sailing , pretly ©roe' , 
be saiQ ," v/itb me today ? ' 
Ive a Me lb®&& here waiting 
She is called "the * X&ily M^ ] 
Ancl ber sails are white as vmk. , 
Atq. the wish's as soft as silk , 
Ado. 1be Utile • wa*a§ are c&ncinQ or? 
tbe by . " & 

I-rr? very Jonh of sailing '' 
sbe ( replied ," except ,you know, 
for those little wsmss _you speak 
of, sip, that always w@bble so.' 
= Just arrange it , if you. will 
Sbat the b@e$ shall keep quite sHIl 
TlJh&ernealh us , and I'q really 
like to go ! " m 


Turn ®^v 

In the space between the two 
Many a hapless boy in blue 
Lay face upward to the skies ; 
Many another, just as true, 
Filled the air with frantic cries. 

: Love of God ! " with pity stirred, 
Cried a rebel lad who heard. 

•This is more than I can bear! 
General, only say the word, 
They shall have some water there." 

" What 's the use ? " his general, 
Frowning, asked. "A Yankee ball 
Drops you dead, or worse, half way, 
Once you go beyond the wall." 

" May be ! " said the boy in gray. 

" Still I '11 risk it, if you please." 

And the senior, ill at ease, 

Nodded, growling under breath, 
" For his mortal enemies 

I have sent the lad to death." 

Then a hotter fire began 
As across the field he ran, — 
Yankee shooters marked a prey, — 
But beside each wounded man 
Heedless knelt the boy in gray. 

Parched lips hailed him as he came; 
Throats with fever all aflame, 
While the balls were spinning by, 
Drained the cup he offered them, 
Blessed him with their dying cry. 


Suddenly, through rain of those 
Pattering shots, a shout uprose-; 
Din of voices filled his ears ; 
Firing ceased, and eager foes 
Made the welkin ring with cheers. 

Foes they were, of bitter need, 

Still to every noble deed 

Hearts of men, thank God, must thrill; 

And we thrill, too, as we read 

Of those cheers on Marye's Hill. 

Days of battle long since done, 
Days of peace and blessing won, 
Better is it to forget 
Cruel work of sword and gun : 
But some deeds are treasures yet. 

While a grateful nation showers 
Graves of heroes with her flowers, 
Here 's a wreath for one to-day : 
North or South, we claim him ours — 
Honor to the Boy in Gray ! 


Mary Bradley, 

Vol. XXII.— 85. 


{Fifteenth paper of the series on North American Quadrupeds.) 

By William T. Hornaday. 



In a wild 


state, the American Bison, or 
practically, though not quite 
wholly, extinct. 


At the present 
(BrumA-mer-Uarfus.) moment there 

are about two hundred wild Buffaloes alive 
and on foot in the United States. To obtain 
these high figures we include the one hundred 
and fifty individuals that the white head-hunt- 
ers and red meat-hunters have thus far left 
alive in the Yellowstone Park, where the buffa- 
loes are fondly supposed to be protected from 
slaughter. Besides these, there are only two 
other bunches: one of about twenty head in 
Lost Park, Colorado, protected by State laws ; 
and another, containing between thirty and 
forty head, in Val Verde County, Texas, be- 
tween Devil's River and the Rio Grande. 

Four years ago there were over three hun- 
dred head in the Yellowstone Park, thriving 
and increasing quite satisfactorily. Through 
them we fondly hoped the species would even 
yet be saved from absolute extinction. But, 
alas ! we were reckoning without the poachers. 
Congress provides pay for just one solitary 
scout to guard in winter 3575 square miles of 
rugged mountain country against the horde of 
lawless white men and Indians who surround 
the park on all sides, eager to kill the last Buf- 
falo ! The poachers have been hard at work, 
and as a result our park herd has recently de- 
creased more than one half in number. It is a 
brutal, burning shame that formerly, through 
lack of congressional law adequately to punish 
such poachers as the wretch who was actually 
caught red-handed in January, 1894, while skin- 
ning seven dead buffaloes ! and now, through 
lack of a paltry $1800 a year to pay four more 
scouts, the park Buffaloes are all doomed to cer- 
tain and speedy destruction. 

Besides the places mentioned, there is only 
one other spot in all North America that con- 
tains wild Buffaloes. 

Immediately southwestward of Great Slave 
Lake there lies a vast wilderness of swamps 
and stunted pines, into which no white man has 
ever penetrated far, and where the red man still 
reigns supreme. It is bounded on the north 
by the Liard and Mackenzie Rivers, on the 
east by the Slave River, on the south by the 
Peace River, and on the west by the Rocky 
Mountains. Mr. Warburton Pike says it is now 
the greatest beaver country in the world, and 
that it also contains a few bands of the so- 
called Wood Buffalo. " Sometimes they are 
heard of at Forts Smith and Vermillion, some- 
times at Fort St. John, on the Peace River, and 
occasionally at Fort Nelson, on the Liard; 



of 8000 feet, and the bleak and inhospitable 
plains of Canada, up even to the land of the 
musk-ox. From north to south his range 
measured 3600 miles, and from east to west 
2100, or about one third of the entire continent 
of North America. 

In 1869 the completion of the Union Pacific 
Railway forever divided the great universal 
herd into two portions — a ''southern herd," 
containing between three and four million Buf- 
faloes, and a " northern herd," of about a mil- 
lion and a half. It is probable that never since 
the world was made has man seen another 
such mighty host of wild animals as those of 
our Bison only twenty-three years ago. In 
swimming rivers, they stopped boats for hours 
at a time; and on land they frequently stopped 
railway trains, and even derailed locomotives 
that tried to plow a way through their ranks. 

but it is impossible to say anything about their 
numbers." At all events, in February, 1890, 
Mr. Pike found eight Buffaloes only four days' 
travel from Fort Resolution, on Great Slave 
Lake, and succeeded in killing one. The Ca- 
nadian authorities estimate the total number in 
that region at three hundred. 

The story of the senseless, wasteful, and 
wicked butchery of the buffalo millions has 
been told many times already, and it is not 
necessary to repeat it here. The frenzied war 
of extermination began in the fall of 1871, and 
in four years the great herd south of the Union 
Pacific Railway was completely blotted out. 
In 1880 the building of the Northern Pacific 
Railway made the northern herd equally acces- 
sible at all points; and in October, 1883, the 
last thousand head were utterly annihilated, in 
southwestern Dakota, by Sitting Bull and a 
band of about one thou- 
sand braves from the 
Standing Rock Agency. 
Two small bands, one 
containing about two 
hundred head and the 
other seventy-five, es- 1 '?y?l 
caped into the bad lands : - '"-'• 
of the Missouri River, 
in central Montana, 
where a few individuals 
survived until 1887. An- 
other band took refuge 
in the fastnesses of the 
Yellowstone Park, where 
a few survivors still are ; 
or were at last accounts. 

The accompanying 
map is designed to tell 
in the smallest limit of 
space the story of the 
practical extermination 
of the American Bison. 
Notice the vast extent 
and varied character of 
the territory once inhabited by this lord of the 
plains. Not only did he inhabit the prairies of 
the West, but also the hilly hard-wood forests 
of the southeastern States, the burning plains 
of northern Mexico, the " Great American 
Desert," the Rocky Mountains to an elevation 







■ III Boundary of the area once 
inhabited by the American 
ml Range of the two great herds in 

^KM Range of the northern herd in 

iiihii Range of the scattered survivors 
of the southern herd in i8;5, after 
the great slaughter of 18-0-187^. 
• ••• Range of the northern herd in 
r884, after the great slaughter of 
Heavy figures represent the lo- 
cality and number of wild Bison 
n existence January rst. 1895. 

Where the herds assembled, they covered the 
earth as with a black mantle. I venture to 
say that no man ever saw in one day a greater 
panorama of animal life than did Colonel R. 
I. Dodge in May, 1871, when he drove for 
twenty-five miles along the Arkansas River 



through an unbroken herd of Buffaloes. On 
that memorable day he actually saw, according 
to careful computation, nearly half a million 
Buffaloes. It was the great southern herd 
moving slowly forward on its annual migration 

that is the Musk-Ox. He is under the pro- 
tection of the Frost King, 
whose game-pastures are 
seldom penetrated by white 
poachers. On the map of Arctic America you 
can put your finger down almost anywhere, so 

(O'z'i'-djs mos-cha ins.) 

'5E? ~&~' ^' ** : 

5 1 - . 



To-day you may travel across the continent 
as you choose, by rail or by wagon, without 
seeing either a live Buffalo, a stuffed head, or 
even a buffalo bone. It was the long-range 
breech-loading rifle and the murderous still- 
hunt that did it, backed by man's inborn greed 
and destructiveness. It is our way to grind to 
powder everything that is not protected by a 
policeman and a club. May Heaven send to 
the boys of the rising generation more sense 
and more humanity in the preservation of our 
beasts and birds than we have yet shown ; and 
the girls should stop wearing dead birds, and 
birds' wings, right now .' 

But there is one large bovine animal on our 
continent which is not destined to be snuffed 
out of existence like the unfortunate Bison, and 

that it be on land north of the Great Slave 
Lake and east of the Mackenzie River, and 
say, " There lives the Musk-Ox, " without fear 
of successful contradiction. 

Just beyond the limit of trees and bushes, 
even the smallest and scantiest, on the silent, 
desolate, and awful Barren Grounds northeast 
of Great Slave Lake, at 64° north latitude, 
the Musk-Ox draws the line marking his far- 
thest south. 

A man who can endure cold like an Eskimo, 
travel like a caribou, live for weeks on frozen 
caribou meat, starve as cheerfully as a Yellow- 
Knife Indian, and endure the companionship 
of vermin-covered natives, can reach the south- 
ern border-land of the Musk-Ox, and possibly 
get back alive with two or three skins. Mr. 


Warburton Pike, Englishman, can do, and did 
do all those things no longer ago than 1890; 
and his book on " The Barren Grounds of 
Northern Canada " is a most interesting and 
valuable contribution to our knowledge of that 
very desolate country. 

The Musk-Ox is perhaps the rarest, and to 
white men the most difficult to secure, of all our 
land quadrupeds. Robes are by no means un- 
common, and often sell for as little as $15 
each ; but of mounted skins there are in our 
country exactly seven. Three of these consti- 
tute a group in the National Museum ; two are 
at the American Museum of Natural History in 
New York ; and the museums of Philadelphia 
and Cambridge have one each. Although 
during their long sojourn in high latitudes 
General Greely and the members of his expe- 
dition party killed many Musk-Oxen, you will 
notice that they were unable to bring back 
even so much as a single horn. 

high by six and a half long, supported upon wide 
hoofs and very short, thick legs, almost hidden 
by the body hair. There is also a blunt and 
hairy muzzle, a pair of eyes, a pair of broad, 
flattened horns that part like a woman's hair 
and drop far downward before they curve up- 
ward, — and that is all. The mass of hair is so 
thick that as the robe lies on the floor it is 
about as easy to walk over as a feather bed. 
Over the loins you will find, if you look closely, 
a broad " saddle-mark " of dirty-white hair, 
shorter than the rest of the coat. 

Next to the body is a matted mass of very 
fine and soft hair, like clean wool, so dense that 
to snow and fog it is quite impenetrable. Over 
this lies a thick coat of very long, straight hair, 
often twelve inches in length and sometimes 
twenty, like the grass rain-coat of a Japanese 
soldier. Sometimes it actually touches the 
snow as the animal walks. In all pictures, 
and in all mounted specimens I know of save 


The appearance of the Musk-Ox is so odd one mounted by Mr. John Fannin, the head is 
and striking that when once seen it is seldom placed below the line of the back ; but in de- 
forgotten. You see an oblong mass of tremen- scribing the gait and appearance of the first 
dously long brown hair, four and a half feet Musk-Ox he saw alive on its native heath, Mr. 



Pike declares that " the shaggy head was car- 
ried high." 

Although that doughty gentleman took part 
in the killing of about fifty 
Musk-Oxen, which he says were 
" slaughtered without any more 
trouble than killing cattle in a 
yard," there was no opportunity 
to weigh any of them. General 
Greely, however, had better fa- 
cilities. When he and his party 
landed at Lady Franklin Bay in 
August, 1 88 1, they were wel- 
comed by a herd of Musk-Oxen, 
and during the first ten days of 
their stay sixteen head were 
killed. Think of it ! Fresh beef 
in abundance at north latitude 
8i° 40' ! During the two years 
of the stay of General Greely's 
party at Fort Conger, they found 
Grinnell Land abundantly sup- 
plied with Musk-Oxen. From 
first to last they killed one hun- 
dred and six head, the flesh of 
which supplied them abundantly 
during almost their entire stay; 

and they caught four Musk-Calves alive. The 
latter were kept in captivity about four months, 
but finally died. 

In the large natural-history collection made 
then by Lieutenant Lockwood there are now 
three skins of Musk-Oxen, boxed securely, and 
even at this moment waiting patiently amid 
the arctic snows and frosts at abandoned Fort 
Conger, " to be called for." 

Of other far north regions, the Musk-Ox in- 
habits northern Greenland, and has also been 
taken on the eastern coast. General Greely 
says that " not far from two hundred Musk- 
Oxen are now inhabitants of Grinnell Land, 
fed by abundant vegetation. Willow, saxifrage, 
dryas, and grasses form winter as well as sum- 
mer food. I found large beds of willow that 
had been fed on during April, the Musk-Oxen 
having broken the crust and scraped off the 
snow to reach it." Contrary to many published 
statements, General Greely found no evidence 
that this animal ever eats lichens. 

In actual bulk I think the Musk-Ox must 
be about equal to our elk, though of course 
the latter is very much taller. General Greely 
states that the average for ten Musk-Oxen 



killed in the autumn of 1882 was three hundred 
and sixty pounds of dressed meat, while the 
largest of all weighed " about twelve hundred 
gross, and dressed four hundred and thirty-two 

At last we have reached that gallant fellow, 
the Mountain Sheep, or Big-horn. A true 
cliff-dweller is he. Born un- 
der the shelving rocks of a 
beetling cliff, sometimes ac- 
tually cradled in the snow, 
and reared in the stormy atmosphere of high 
altitudes, he is a typical mountaineer. Wherever 

mountain sheep 
or big-horn. 

spread like a relief-map three thousand feet be- 
fore him, is his delight. In former times he was 
venturesome, and often wandered miles away 
from his mountain home to explore tempting 
tracts of bad lands; and, being unmolested, he 
sometimes took up a permanent residence in 
such places. But the venturesome inhabitants 
of low, isolated mountains and shelterless bad 
lands have paid with their lives for their pio- 
neering, and now a Mountain Sheep is rarely 
found elsewhere than amid mountains worthy 
of the name. 

Kill one fine old mountain ram by your own 


you find him at home, depend upon it that you 
will also find the finest scenery of the district. 

This animal loves a bird's-eye view of a 
mountain landscape as well as does any mem- 
ber of the Geological Survey. A steep descent, 
with a narrow, level valley and a thread-like river 

efforts in climbing and stalking, and we will 
call you a sportsman, with a capital S, — pro- 
vided you save his head for mounting, and his 
flesh for the platter. But no ewes, mind you ! 
Ewes and lambs count against you, rather than 
to your credit. Can I ever forget how I once 


traveled all the way from Washington to Wy- 
oming, killed just one superb mountain ram 
amidst grand scenery, preserved him, carried 
his " saddle " to Washington, and called my 
pleasure-trip a complete success ? Hardly. 
Even the recollection of it is worth four times 
the money it cost. 

spite of the difficulty of the process, and the 
pitiful scantiness of the grazing, I was aston- 
ished beyond measure at finding that his stom- 
ach contained fully half a bushel of that same 
grass. He was not only in good flesh, but 
positively fat ; and from the fact that to save 
our lives Fleming, the packer, and I, both mus- 

That particular Mountain Sheep stood four 
feet three inches in height at the shoulders. 
He was four feet ten inches in length of head 
and body, and his girth was three feet eight 
inches. He leaped off a low ridge of bare rock, 
fell dead on a foot of snow in the head of a 
rock-walled gulch, and oh ! boys, how fine he 
was ! Up in the mountain park he had been 
pawing through the snow to get at the spears 
of dry grass that were there obtainable ; and in 

cular men, could not lift him upon a mule to 
carry him to our camp, and for other reasons, 
I am certain that he weighed at least three 
hundred pounds. 

Formerly the Mountain Sheep inhabited 
practically all the wild mountain-ranges of the 
West, from central Arizona to the Arctic Circle. 
In the northern half of this vast range it still 
exists abundantly; but in the United States this 
much-prized animal has been so persistently 


hunted and shot that now it is found in a few 
localities only, and those are very hard to 
reach. As late as 1886 a few daring pioneers 
wandered eastward through the bad lands of 
the Missouri River as far as the Sheep Moun- 
tains; and, stranger still, even to-day several 
small bands find safe refuge along the rocky 
walls of the Grand Canon of the Colorado, where 
they have depth instead of height to protect 
them. Like the inhabitants of a volcanic isl- 
and in an inhospitable sea, a band was found 
by Dr. Merriam on San Francisco Mountain, 
northern Arizona, which rises out of the heat 
and desolation of the Painted Desert. 

There are Mountain Sheep in Colorado, Wy- 
oming, the Yellowstone Park, Montana, Idaho, 
Washington, and Oregon. Possibly a few still 
remain in northeastern California; but from 
Mount Shasta, where they were once so numer- 
ous, they are gone forever, and only a few 
bleaching skeletons remain. 

No ; the Mountain Sheep does not leap from 
great heights, and land either upon his horns or 
his feet. He knows the strength of his mate- 
rials too well to try it. His horns and skull 
might successfully withstand the shock, but the 
weight of his body would break his spinal col- 
umn in two or three places, to say the least of 
it. It is true that when hard pressed a herd 
will sometimes plunge down a terribly steep in- 
cline, sliding and bounding from point to point, 
until they plow into the "slide-rock" below; 
but as to leaping over a sheer precipice, I never 
saw any one who even claimed to have ever 
witnessed such a thing. • The old rams often 
fight by butting each other terrifically, and 
often splinter, or sometimes break off, the ends 
of their horns in that way. 

The Mountain Sheep is a brave and hardy 
animal, strong-limbed, sure-footed, keen of eye 
and of ear. The lambs are born in May, long 
before the snow is off the mountains, and some 
have been known to follow their dams over the 
snow-fields before they were twenty-four hours 
old. But the mountain lambkin has many ene- 
mies. The golden eagle, the coyote, the puma, 
and in some localities the wolverine, are all 
lovers of mutton, and ever on the alert for an 
unprotected lamb or a wounded sheep. While 
I was engaged in skinning the ram already 
Vol. XXII.— 86. 

mentioned, Lieutenant Robertson shot three 
ewes out of a large flock of ewes and lambs 
that were feeding on a hillside. Before we 
could get to them the next morning, to skin 
and dress them, all three were badly torn on 
their shoulders and necks by the pestiferous 
golden eagles, which had evidently kept a hun- 
gry eye on our movements. 

In my estimation, the pursuit of the Moun- 
tain Sheep is the highest type of hunting our 
continent affords. To " collect " an old ram 
requires good lungs, good legs, good judgment, 
and good shooting. In the doing of it you are 
bound to rise in the world, to expand mentally, 
morally, and physically, and to come under the 
spell that Nature always lays upon the hunter 
who once sets foot upon her crags and peaks. 
I regret the disappearance of the Mountain 
Sheep even more than the passing of the buf- 
falo and elk, for it is an animal of finer mold 
and stronger and more interesting character 
every way. It is much more alert than the 
mountain goat, and therefore more difficult to 
shoot, — so say the men who have hunted both. 

Until quite recently, the Rocky Mountain 

Goat, White Goat, or Goat Antelope has 

been as little known 

ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOAT. and ^ sddom sgen 

in museums as the 
musk-ox. Now, however, thanks to the moun- 
taineering editor of Forest and Stream, Mr. 
George Bird Grinnell, and his untiring industry 
in the pursuit of this odd creature, both our 
knowledge of it and our stock of museum speci- 
mens have been very greatly increased. All 
visitors to the World's Fair who saw in the 
Kansas Building the grand series of groups of 
large mammals collected and mounted for the 
University of Kansas by Professor L. L. Dyche, 
will remember that the group of Mountain 
Goats was the most striking and conspicuous 
of them all. Another fine group was shown 
by the National Museum in the Government 

The Mountain Goat is a creature of contra- 
ries. Though he spends almost his whole life 
either in climbing or in edging along rock 
ledges so narrow and so high that they would 
almost make an eagle dizzy, he is neither long- 
legged and high-headed like the mountain 


sheep, nor lightly built like the chamois. He 
has a short, thick-set body, short and stocky legs, 
a short neck, and his head hangs low, like that 
of a buffalo. Indeed, if you but change his 
horns, and dye him dark brown, you will have 
a very good pygmy buffalo, and by no means 
the kind of a creature that you or I would nat- 
urally construct to climb precipices all its life. 
In no one feature save his hoofs does he seem 
built for climbing; but "he gets there, just the 

Although his home is decidedly higher than 
that of the mountain sheep, and he frequents 
the tops of the highest mountains he can find, 
yet in western British Columbia he often de- 
scends in winter to the very shores of the sea 
and its inlets; and, ridiculous as it may seem, 
many a Mountain Goat has been shot from a 
canoe ! East of the Rockies, this strange crea- 
ture has on several occasions been seen in 
Montana, far from the foothills, and well into 
the prairie country bordering the Missouri 
River. But those observations were made a 
number of years ago. 

The Mountain Goat is clad after the style of 
the musk-ox, save as to color, — a very dense 
coat of fine wool next the skin, covered with a 
thick outside thatch of coarse hair. Both coats 
are yellowish-white, and there is not a colored 
hair in either of them. The two together are 
quite impervious to moisture and rain, and the 
Goat loves just what nearly all other living 
creatures abhor, — altitudes where the moisture 
is great and the cold intense. Like the musk- 
ox, this creature knows nothing of intense cold 
save by hearsay, and even in winter he prefers 
to lie in the shade ! 

Says Mr. Grinnell : 

" Often when hunting in the Rocky Moun- 
tains in bitter cold weather, when the ice would 
collect rapidly on the face and beard, and only 
heavy clothing and the constant and violent 
exercise of climbing the mountains protected us 
from severe suffering from the cold, we have 
been astonished to see the White Antelope 
seek out the coldest spots that it could find, 
and lie down in the shade, perhaps close to, or 
even on, the ice formed by some trickling rill 
whose waters, issuing from a crevice in the 
rock, were congealed as soon as they reached 

the outer air. At times when other animals 
try to find the warmest places they can, these 
seek the coldest." 

In the United States the Mountain Goat is 
found on a few of the highest and most inac- 
cessible mountains of Montana, Idaho, Oregon, 
and Washington, and in two or three localities 
in Colorado also, — provided the hunters have 
not yet killed all of them. Northwestward it 
is to be found here and there on the high 
mountains of British Columbia, both in the 
Rockies and the Cascades, through a strip of 
territory about four hundred miles wide, stretch- 
ing along the Pacific Coast, and extending al- 
most to the Yukon River in Alaska. Contrary 
to the ideas of many persons, this animal does 
not live wholly above the timber-line, but 
is often found, even in comparatively mild 
weather, where pine and fir are abundant. To 
hunt them successfully, the hunter must seek 
them before snow falls, when their white coats 
render them quite conspicuous objects against 
the somber-colored rocks. After snow falls 
hunting is useless, by reason of the impossibility 
of seeing the game. 

Professor Dyche says the Mountain Goat is 
not going to be wholly exterminated very soon, 
chiefly by reason of its inaccessibility, and the 
cost in time, money, and muscle required to get 
within gunshot of it. Its flesh is so musky and 
dry it is not palatable to white men, save when 
they are very hungry indeed ; and goatskins 
are so nearly worthless that I once purchased 
seventy skins, fully tanned and dressed, for 
only one dollar and~fifty cents each. They 
were originally sold in Denver, as raw pelts, 
for fifty cents each. 

Although the Mountain Goat is a very sure- 
footed and level-headed animal, he is said by' 
those who have hunted him (of whom I confess 
I am not one) to be a very stupid animal, and 
easily killed when once the hunter reaches his 
haunts. In actual weight he is about the size 
of the Virginia deer, but in bulk he seems to 
be larger because of his shaggy fleece of wool 
and hair. The horns are small, smooth, and jet- 
black, and the hoof is a strange combination of 
rubber pad on the inside and knife-edge on the 
outside, to hold the owner on snow, ice, or bare 
rock without slipping. 


of daisies 
grew by the 
of a path that 
at one end a 

.«, had 

low-eaved, rose-em- 
bowered cottage standing 
by itself; at the other end the 
daisies did not know what it had, for it wound 
out of sight. 

The daisies in this clump were five, all very 
beautiful and equally touched at the tip of 
every petal with crimson. They were all dai- 
sies of fine sentiment, as well : at least, it is 
certain that one of them, who in every external 
point resembled the others, was capable of 
deep feeling. She opened to the sun at morn- 
ing a smiling eye radiant with gratitude, and 
in her language saluted him as brother; she 
drank her dew and took her rain with appre- 
ciation, saying a little grace before and after; 
she bowed amiably to every breeze that passed, 
whispering in friendly recognition. This daisy, 
from the first day she came to consciousness, 
felt a peculiar softness and warmth, in what we 
must call her heart, toward everything around 
her that seemed to her beautiful, — and, as often 
happens with such a nature, almost everything 
seemed to her beautiful. 

But there are degrees of beauty even to one 
of this disposition : to this daisy the most beau- 
tiful of all things seemed a maiden who came 
from the cottage every day, and walked down 

She was a soft-eyed young maiden 
gold hair in braids, and a color in 
her cheek like the flush of dawn reflected on a 
snow-peak. She passed with a pensive air, less 
alive to the things around her than to a vision 
in her own heart. The daisy wished with all 
her being that she would take some notice of 
them. After several disappointments, it came 
to seem to this daisy, who before had been so 
contented, that there was hardly any use in 
existing if never this maiden was to take any 
notice of one. 

Imagine her feelings, then, when one morn- 
ing the maiden, coming toward the clump, let 
her eyes drop on it, — with an appearance of 
seeing it, too ! Not only that : having reached 
it, she stooped and picked one of the daisies, — 
not the one most interested, but a sister of 
hers, — and kneeling in the grass by the thrilled 
and watchful clump, stripped it of its crimson- 
tipped petals one by one, murmuring over and 
over: "He loves me! — with all his heart! — 
to desperation! — a little! — not at all!" till the 
grass was strewn as with snowflakes, and the 
maiden, holding the last petal, said with a 
dreamy half-smile : " He loves me ! " 

What she had seen had seemed to the shud- 
dering daisy a cruel thing to do, and she did 
not understand how it could be that this com- 
passionate-eyed creature could destroy an un- 
offending daisy. Her confidence in things 
beautiful was shaken. She wondered all day 
long, and inquired, but without satisfactory re- 
sult, of every passing butterfly. 

On the next morning she felt less delight 
than uneasiness when the damsel appeared. 

68 3 




She advanced, wearing the soft and dreamy 

look that fitted her for being adored by every 

g,, flower. Reaching the clump, 

which the daisy was quite 

cured of wishing more 

conspicuous, again 

she stooped and 

gently broke off 

a daisy, — not 

the one we 
have been chiefly 
telling about, but 
another sister, — 

"she INQUI] :d of every passing an0 - P u U e d °H 

butterfly. " its petals one by 

one, saying the same words as on the day before. 

" With all his heart ! " she breathed into the 
last one ; and a look so beautiful came upon 
her face, as she lingered a moment in the grass 
before passing further, that the daisy trembled 
on her stem with an inexpressible feeling, her 
whole consideration and judgment of things 
undergoing a change. 

All that day she swayed on her stem, dream- 
ing, did this daisy; and at night an invisible 
bird sang on a neighboring tree with such ef- 
fect that the sentimental little thing, who had 
drunk in all the music and moonshine, felt, as 
she dropped asleep, that she longed for nothing 
so much as the moment when she herself would 
be lifted up by the white hand of the maiden, 
and lose all her petals in the cause of bringing 
that lovely look into her human face. By re- 
flection as well as inquiry she had arrived at an 
apprehension of the meaning of the girl's game 
with daisies. "All of my family die for love! " 
she said to a beetle, who it is not sure had 
asked for confidences. 

On the next day, at the approach of the 
maiden, she stretched up her head with a 
ready smile : she felt sharp grief this time, 
though she breathed more freely, too, at seeing 
the third of her sisters preferred to her. 

And on the next day again, Fate willed 

that another sister still should be taken instead 
of herself that was so eager. She watched the 
fluttering white shreds drop in the grass, and 
mechanically counted them as they fell, for 
by this time she was perfectly acquainted with 
the maiden's formula. 

,; He loves me! — with all his heart! — to 
desperation! — a little! — not at all!" The 
shower stopped at that, — at "not at all!" 
Something must be wrong: the daisy looked up 
in doubt and dismay at the maiden, and saw 
her blossom-face droop and cloud over. She 
lowered her hand, and let drop from it the yel- 
low wreck of the daisy. With a step less elastic 
than usual she went her way down the path, 
and out of sight. 

Half the day the daisy grieved over what 
she had seen, refusing to admit that the 
weather was anything but gray and cold, 
though the sun shone brightly. But in the 
mellow red-gold afternoon, with its long sooth- 
ing of bees and breezes, the happy 
prospect began to tell on her 
of the next morning reaching 
the consummation of all her 
wishes, — as she indubita- 
bly must, since she was ■ 3 
the only daisy left now 
of the five that had been 
in the clump. 

" What bliss and what 
well-being ! " she said, 


rocking herself in an ecstasy. " To perish, in- 
deed ; but in perishing to see above me that 
smile like a soft sunrise spreading over the ten- 
der face, and to know that it is owing to me ! " 

i8 9 5-] 


68 5 

And, strong in her imagining, the daisy began 
rehearsing in her mind the little scene of the 
morrow. She counted her petals over, mur- 
muring at each one the appro- 
priate words. Wretched daisy, 
who not in the darkest dream 
could have conceived such 
a thing! The tale of 
her horrified petals was 
told at " a little ! " And 
over her would be not 
the smile, but the griev- 
ed look, the tear ! The 
poor maiden's heart, no 
doubt, would be broken. 
She counted herself over 
and over, nervously. 

Darkness came, 
but no rest, no 
peace to the daisy. 
She could not be- 
lieve but that by 
troubling and think- 
ing she could find 
a way to pre- 
vent the impend- 
ing calamity — 
to put off the 
fatal morning. 
As many as a 
hundred times she counted herself over. She had 
made no mistake : the verdict was a paltry " lit- 
tle " every time. There was no changing it ; and 
she silently cried a large tear of dew on to 
the weed that grew just below and, unmind- 
ful of all but herself, greedily held up a dozen 
mealy red cups for more. 

Her grief at last, as the night wore on, settled 
into despair; and as she was exhausted by 
her emotions, in spite of herself she fell asleep. 

She was dreaming that already — too soon ! 
— the birds were proclaiming the dawn, when 
an unusual stirring in the grass roused her. 

" A drop of dew ! " she heard a voice say, 
the size of a young cricket's chirp. " Oh, a 
large drop of dew ! And every cup full as can 
be of honey-meal ! " 

The daisy peeped astonished through her 
half-closed eyelashes. 

By the light of the broad moon that was just 
rising over the knoll near by, she discerned 
two exquisite creatures, very like human chil- 
dren, only each but a single inch tall — fairy 
people ! She had heard of these, but never 
before had seen them; for, though not rare, 
they are by no means common. 

One, who it was easy to see by his coat 
made of a crimson rose-leaf was a gentleman 
fairy, was clambering up the weed, peering into 
the red cups. The other, a lady fairy by her 
kirtle fashioned of a lily, stood at the foot of 
the daisy's own stem, watching her companion. 

" I never tasted anything so good ! " said the 
wisp of a man, dipping in his finger, then suck- 
ing it. ' ; My Emeraldiana, we will eat it all 
up ! " And, having slid down, he gallantly 
helped the lady to the top of the daisy, where, 
seeing her comfortably seated as on a stool, he 
said, "Stay there, my love; and do not give 
yourself the least concern. I will serve you my- 
self. Just let me dip out the meal for you." 

" Very well," said the little lady, gladly re- 
ceiving a portion. " It is truly delicious! But 
how very sticky it is ! You must certainly, my 
dear Rosodorinus, provide me with a napkin." 

The inch-tall gallant looked about a second, 
at a loss, and delicately scratched his gold 
head ; then suddenly, with a little cry of delight 
at his inspiration, he pulled off one of the daisy's 
petals, and handed it to his lady for a napkin. 

" Oh, what is the matter with my chair ? " 
she exclaimed, feeling the daisy under her trem- 
ble, as it did with joy and surprise. 

For now the daisy knew that all was well, 
and that when the maiden consulted her she 
would be able to answer, 



By Elbridge S. Brooks. 

[Begun in the November number. ] 

Chapter XV. 


In the days of discussion that followed the 
Emperor's return from Russia, Philip found his 
greatest comfort in Corporal Peyrolles. The 
veteran of Austerlitz would come stumping 
along the Street of the Fight, and in the quiet 
home of the Keeper of the Archives would 
second all Philip's extravagant claims as to 
the invincibleness of the Emperor, and would 
" have it out" with Uncle Fauriel, who pre- 
tended to see in the Russian disaster the ven- 
geance of heaven on the "Corsican ogre" who 
had, so he said, "betrayed the Republic." 

" Did I leave a leg at Austerlitz," demanded 
Corporal Peyrolles, " to drag the other around 
after a defeated Emperor ? No, Citizen. It 
was to have one good leg left, with which to 
dance with joy over every victory. And let me 
tell you, I can dance on one leg better than 
some of those dukes and marshals at the palace 
can on two — with all their titles. Faith! but 
I can, Mademoiselle. See now ! " and, catching 
Mademoiselle round the waist, the old fellow 
actually swung the girl about the room, hum- 
ming meanwhile one of the lively airs of the 
camp, to keep step to. Then, while the others 
applauded, they sank into chairs, the Corporal 
panting and Mademoiselle laughing merrily. 

" You see, Peyrolles is good for something 
yet," said the Corporal. " And as for the leg, 
Citizen," he cried to Uncle Fauriel, " it has 
been a good republican leg; yes, I grant you 
that. But it is a good Empire leg, too. For, 
look you, it is the Emperor's leg ! " and he 
slapped his one sound limb so heartily that all 
laughed aloud, and the page cried enthusiasti- 
cally, " Long live the leg ! Corporal Peyrolles's 
one is better than the Czar's million ! " 

" True for you, my Philip ! " said the Corpo- 

ral. " What is a Cossack's leg good for but 
to run away ? or a Prussian's ? or an English- 
man's ? or that of any enemy of the Emperor ? " 

" But the Corsican's legs are sound yet, my 
Corporal," said Uncle Fauriel, " and he is run- 
ning too. He is running to destruction, and 
dragging all France with him." 

" Bah! " cried Corporal Peyrolles. " It is the 
home-made dukes and marshals who are run- 
ning that way — if any one is — with their thirst 
for titles and their greed for riches. Reduce 
'em to the ranks, I say; reduce 'em to the 
ranks ! and put true men in their place — even 
if they should be one-legged ones. Then I '11 
back the Little Corporal against all Europe, 
and Russia into the bargain." 

But Citizen Daunou said : " Ah, my friends, 
it is not a question of France and her salvation. 
If the Emperor will but be warned by this 
Russian disaster ; if he will but heed the wail 
going up from thousands of French homes ; 
if he will but keep friendship with Austria or 
Prussia or the Confederates of the Rhine ; if 
he will but remember that a single card may 
lose as well as win the game, then France may 
not need to stand at bay against all Europe ; 
thus may both the Empire and the Emperor be 
saved. It is wise, when your ship is drifting to- 
ward the breakers, to throw something over- 
board, and thus save ship and cargo. But, 
alas ! the Emperor never was anything of a 
sailor, even though they did think of making 
a sailor of him when he was a boy. He 
will crowd on sail, and head straight for the 

Philip did not believe this. He thought his 
old friend was what we to-day call an " alarm- 
ist." Philip was, indeed, a boy of the Empire. 
He had faith in Napoleon as the greatest man 
in all the world. To him Napoleon was 
France ; France was the Empire ; and the Em- 
pire would one day be Europe. So, as much 



as any boy cares to think on such questions, 
Philip thought the future was clear. He be- 
lieved that the Russian campaign had, indeed, 
been a victory. Did not Napoleon plant the 
eagles on the walls of Moscow ? And what is 
that but victory ? He knew that the Emperor 
would yet humble Europe, punish Russia, and 
give new glory to France as conqueror and as 

On January 1, 1813, at the Emperor's New 
Year's day reception, Philip saw only the great- 
ness and glory of Napoleon. Alike at review 
and fete that ushered in that disastrous year for 
Erance, this optimistic and vivacious young 
page was full of boastfulness as to the Em- 
peror's invincibility and " the Emperor's luck." 

France was arming again. Almost drained 
of men for the struggle with Russia, she was 
now preparing herself anew for a death-grap- 
ple with all Europe. Old men and young men, 
veterans and boys, filled the ranks. The shat- 
tered regiments were refilled. The Young 
Guard, drawn from the freshest blood of France, 
was formed into squadrons and battalions in 
blue ; and Napoleon, looking at his new fight- 
ing-men that France had given him, cried with 
pleasure as they passed in review before him : 
" Ah, with these one may conquer every one 
and everywhere ! " 

The Emperor was continually on the go in 
those busy days. And so, too, was Philip. For 
the page, growing in strength and favor, was 
constantly in attendance on the Emperor at the 
palaces, in the city, at the hunt, and in the 
home apartments. 

Here, on a certain day, as he was helping the 
Emperor put on his coat of green and gold, 
Philip overheard Napoleon say to his confidant 
the Marshal of the Palace : " To-morrow we 
hunt at Grosbois, Duroc. We must keep mov- 
ing. I must be active, so that the newspapers 
will talk of it, and the English, who say I am 
sick, will see that they lie. Sick ! I never was 
better, Duroc. But I am getting too fat, my 
friend, and action makes one thinner. Have 
patience. I will soon show Europe that I am 
the healthiest man alive." 

There was no doubt as to the truth of this 
statement. The Emperor was growing fat. 
The thin and sickly-looking conqueror of Areola 

and Marengo had grown into the fat and "well- 
groomed " lord of the land; and even Philip's 
loyalty could not deny that some day his hero 
and idol might be even as fat as Uncle Fauriel. 
But he hoped not. 

Philip was glad of the hunting at Grosbois, 
and he was on hand betimes next morning 
when, with but a few attendants, the Emperor 
rode toward the barriers, on his way to join the 
Empress and certain of the court at Grosbois, 
the estate of Prince Berthier, near Melun, some 
thirty miles from Paris. 

As they rode along the crowded Street of 
the Suburb of St. Anthony, Philip saw a boy 
not much older than himself spring from the 
watching crowd straight in the Emperor's path. 

" Is it, then, an assassination ? " Philip asked 
himself. " The Emperor is in danger ! " And, 
quick as thought, he sprang from his horse and 
seized the boy's arm. 

But the Emperor said : " Hold, then, young 
Desnouettes! What do you wish, you boy?" 

" My freedom!" cried the boy. " See ! your 
boy-stealers have drawn me to fight against the 
Cossacks. What do I care for the Cossacks ? 
My old mother is more to me. What do I care 
for your throne ? My home is dearer. My 
mother needs me more than you do. If I go, 
she starves. If I am killed, she dies. Hands 
off, palace-cub, Nicholas-dog ! " he cried to 
Philip. " I do not seek to kill this Bonaparte. 
I would kill no one. I would keep my skin 
for my mother. I am a Paris boy, and too 
good to feed Russian wolves ! " 

The police made a dash at this boy who 
braved the Emperor; but from the crowd came 
threatening cries : " Touch him not, prison- 
sheep!" "Yah! Bonaparte! — Nicholas! — give 
us peace ! We have had fighting enough ! " 

The police faced the crowd. The Emperor 
sat calm and immovable. Then, with a rush 
such as is known only to Paris mobs, the crowd 
made a dash for the prisoner. The police were 
forced off; Philip was rolled over in the mud, 
and when he struggled to his feet the boy was 
gone, while cries of delight and derision came 
from the victorious crowd. There had been 
a rescue, and the conscript had been smuggled 
away by his friends. 

And still the Emperor sat immovable. This 




was a new experience for him. But it was not 
his policy, just now, to antagonize the people. 
His success depended upon their agreeing to 
his demands. 

" Let the boy go," he said. " The fools do 
not know what they want. A mob is but a pig, 
and you police — bah ! you are imbeciles. To 
horse, my page ; ride on, gentlemen ! And 
you," — this to the discomfited police, — " let 
not this thing happen again." 

So they rode on to Grosbois — the "great 
wood " where was the villa of Prince Berthier, 
that dragoon captain who had fought for 
American freedom under Lafayette, had de- 
fended King Louis of France in the days 
of the Terror, and had helped Bonaparte win 
his way to a throne. And there they hunted 
the boar that January afternoon, and Philip 
had a glorious time. 

But once, when the prickers had driven the 
big boar straight toward the imperial spear, 
Philip was surprised to see the Emperor, for- 
getful of the sport, with his head bent and his 
reins slack on his horse's neck, lost in thought. 

" On guard, Sire ! " cried the page. " The 
pig will escape you." And, fearing this, he 
dashed forward to head off the beast and drive 
him back for the Emperor's spear. 

" Eh ? So, boy ! I was thinking. I had 
the Prussians cornered. Kill the pig yourself." 

Philip sought to do this; but his horse turned 
sharply; the boar, darting between the horse's 
legs, disconcerted the steed ; it snorted, reared, 
and plunged, and over on his head went Mon- 
sieur the Page. The boar turned to charge, and 
the Emperor, now aroused from his reverie, at 
once saw the boy's danger. Spurring his horse to 
the spot, with an expert plunge of the spear he 
ran the boar through, just as its murderous tusks 
were within an ace of the prostrate page. 

" Why, Philip ; why, boy ! " cried the Em- 
peror ; " your training at Alfort must have been 
poor. Can you not keep your saddle ? How 
can you expect to ride to the front in a cavalry 
charge ? " 

Philip rose, feeling very small indeed. Thrown 
by a mob ! Thrown by a pig ! This was not 
exactly a day of laurels for Monsieur the Page. 
But the Emperor cried gaily : " 'T is the for- 
tune of war, young Desnouettes ! Up and try 

it again ! " and, much chagrined, Philip mounted 
his horse and dropped behind the Emperor. 

Next morning the talk at the grand break- 
fast in the castle of Grosbois was all of the 
hunt for that day. Horses and huntsmen were 
in readiness when, suddenly, the Emperor 
sprung a surprise upon the company. 

" Ladies and gentlemen," he said, " we shall 
not hunt to-day. We ride to Fontainebleau." 

" To Fontainebleau, Sire ! " cried the ladies, 
in dismay. " To Fontainebleau ? Why, we have 
only our hunting-dresses with us! " 

" I weep for you, ladies," said the Emperor, 
in mock sympathy; "but such are my plans. 
The Holy Father will, I am sure, excuse your 
hunting-dress. Boy Philip, is the post-chaise 
ready for me ? " 

" It waits in the court, Sire," Philip replied. 

" Good," said the Emperor. " Do you, then, 
mount your horse and gallop on ahead to the 
palace. Tell Monsieur the Chamberlain that I 
shall be there within the hour. But let him on 
no account acquaint the Holy Father of my 
coming. Now then, off with speed ! Ride on, 
boy ; ride on ! " 

It was well that Philip had snatched a hasty 
bite to eat that morning with the chief page 
of Prince Berthier. Otherwise he would have 
gone breakfastless. For he was on his horse in 
an instant, galloping through the forest to the 
palace at Fontainebleau, where, for more than a 
year, the Emperor had held a close prisoner 
that Pope of Rome known as Pius the Seventh. 

The quarrel between the Emperor and the 
Pope has no bearing on our story. Suffice it 
to say that when Napoleon assumed the sover- 
eignty of Italy he took away from the Pope 
what is known as his temporal power — the 
right to rule the States of the Church as a 
landed prince. And when that spirited old 
Pontiff objected to Napoleon's ways, the Em- 
peror stole him bodily — first from Rome, and 
then from Savona, until finally he shut the 
Pope up in this palace of Fontainebleau until 
such time as the Holy Father would yield 
to the imperial will. This the Pope refused 
to do ; and, living the life of a recluse in that 
great gilded palace, he had come to be known 
to men as the Prisoner of Fontainebleau. 

Through the crisp winter's morning Philip 

i8 9 5-: 



rode on to Fontainebleau. Into the wide forest 
he galloped, on under its great leafless trees, 
on past the meadows, lawns, and cliffs that 
make the forest of Fontainebleau one of the 
world's picture-spots, on past the Cross of the 
Specter Huntsmen, the Gorge of the Wolf, 

the Pool of the Elves, the Miraculous 
Weeping Rock, and the Robbers' 
Cave, up the Grand Promenade of 
the Queen, and so through the great 
gardens into the splendid Court of 
the White Horse. Here he threw 
his reins to the groom, and sought in 
the palace Monsieur the Captain La- 
grosse of the Imperial Guard, who, 
while really the jailer, posed as the 
chamberlain of the Prisoner of Fontainebleau. 
Philip delivered his message. At once there 
was the bustle of preparation. Not for a year 
and more had the Emperor or his court been 
seen at the great palace. 
Vol. XXII.— 87. 

Philip, left to his own devices, wandered 
through the splendid building, prying into the 
magnificent rooms, in which kings and queens 
had held high festival in days gone by, and 
wondering, boy-like, as he peeped and pried, 
in just what rooms the captive Pope of Rome 
lived in priestly state. 

Along a wide hall that looked out upon the 
Court of the Fountain, Philip strolled and loi- 
tered, trying door after door in his curiosity. 
One of these opened to his touch, and the page, 
passing through, found himself in a little room 
that looked like a plain and poorly furnished 
bedchamber. Within this room a slight and 

pleasant- faced 
man sat, busy 
thread, mend- 
ing a pair of 

" Eh, there ! 
cried the heed- 
less page. " I 
knew no one 
washere. Can 
you tell me, 
you now, where 
one might see 
the prisoner? " 
" The pris- 
oner, my son?" 
the old man re- 
peated, looking 
at the boy in 
gentle inquiry. 
" Yes — I 
mean the Pope, 
the Pope Pius," 
explained Phil- 
ip ; " he whom 
men call the 
"I am that 

unfortunate, my son," said the old man, rising. 

"What would you with me? Speak. I am the 


"You the Pope! You — and in this mean 

little room — mending old clothes like that ! 





Oh, forgive me! I — I did not know — " and 
down on his knees before this sweet-faced old 
man dropped the prying page, now deeply mor- 
tified at his heedlessness of speech and act. 

Chapter XVI. 


At that moment a voice was heard in the 
outer room; then followed the sound of swing- 
ing doors and hurrying feet. 

The Pope, living in an atmosphere of uncer- 
tainty, gave quick ear to the disturbance. He 
drew away his hand from the head of the 
kneeling boy, and looked with anxious inquiry 
into Philip's upturned face. Did this boy's 
presence, this sudden noise of intrusion, mean 
a new danger for him ? Recollections flashed 
across him of how that very room in which he 
sat had, long years ago, been the apartment 
of that stanch Archbishop Thomas a Becket, 
whom an English king had murdered at the 
very altar. He stood erect, defiance and res- 
ignation curiously mingled in his face. 

Philip, too, sprang to his feet. 

" It is the Emperor ! " he cried. 

"The Emperor? — here? "echoed Pope Pius. 
He strode to the door and flung it open. There, 
in the opposite doorway, stood his persecutor 
and his opponent. But not as a foeman nor 
an assassin did the great Emperor appear. In- 
stead, his broad, handsome face beamed with 
friendship; from eyes and lips sprang the smiles 
of welcome and good will. Crossing the Pope's 
antechamber, he almost ran, with extended 
arms, to where in the open doorway stood the 
startled Pope, with the troubled page behind 

Napoleon flung his arms about the Pontiff. 

" My father ! " he cried, and kissed him on 
the cheek. 

" My son ! " the Pope responded, tenderly 
but with dignity, and returned the embrace. 

Pope Pius saw the man whom, ten years be- 
fore, he had anointed Emperor of the French ; 
Napoleon saw the man from whose hands he 
had received the imperial crown, and whom 
it was now his policy to reconcile. 

For nearly ten days the court remained at 
Fontainebleau, and when Napoleon rode back 

to Paris he had accomplished w r hat his surprise- 
party to the Pope was intended to bring about. 

As for Philip, he experienced for days no 
little uncertainty and chagrin, although he man- 
aged, of course, to have a good time at Fon- 

He had not made a dazzling success of 
himself, however, on this semi-official outing. 
He had been tumbled into the mud when he 
had tried to protect the Emperor from a fancied 
assassination ; he had been flung heels over 
head and almost disabled on the hunting-field, 
when he had the chance to show his valor and 
his skill ; he had intruded most unwarrantably 
upon the privacy of a Pope, and used lan- 
guage of which he was ashamed. Certainly, 
as a page of the palace he had displayed an 
ability for blundering into scrapes, in which 
only his loyalty and the Emperor's favor saved 
him from ridicule and a scolding. 

The Emperor saw this, too. For, one day, 
standing in the gorgeous vestibule that led to 
the private apartments of the Emperor, Philip 
was suddenly accosted by Napoleon. 

" Well, my Philip," the Emperor said, " you 
look tall enough to be a man. How old now, 
you boy ? " 

" Seventeen next August, Sire," said the page. 

" Within the legal age for conscription, eh ? " 
queried the Emperor. " And smart and sound 
enough, although something of a blunderer. 
We must find active service for you. Some- 
times you appear to be more a bull in a china- 
shop than a quiet page of the palace. But you 
do your best, you boy ; you do your best. We 
must put your overflow of spirits to better 
service for France." 

For France ! That was the Emperor's one 
thought now ; that, too, was Philip's desire, and 
he hailed with delight the promise of a change 
of duty. 

But when Philip told the old Keeper what 
good fortune awaited him, Citizen Daunou said 
solemnly : " The Emperor has yet to learn the 
grandeur of victory that comes through peace. 
Heaven send he may not learn it at the cost 
of his crown, his country, and his life ! " 

Pierre, the young inspector of police, was 
becoming a frequent visitor at the house of the 

i8 9S .] 


Keeper of the Archives, who, like the good 
republican he was, disdained the distinctions 
of rank and of title, if only men were true at 
heart, and at Mademoiselle's salon welcomed 
all his friends on equal footing and with equal 
good will. After Philip had gone, Pierre re- 
mained to see their host alone. 

Pierre beckoned the old Keeper aside. 

" I have found something, Citizen Daunou," 
he said, " that for nearly two years I have been 
hunting down — at the Emperor's request, mark 
you. Only to-day did I unearth what may be 
the thing I seek. I found it — well, no need 
to tell you where. Enough that I have found 
it. Will you read it, Citizen ? See if you can 
fit it to anything you have." 

Citizen Daunou took from Pierre's hand the 
piece of paper the inspector held out to him. 
It was a frayed and dingy slip, yellow with 
age, and with the appearance of having been 
torn, years before, from a larger document. 
The old man adjusted his spectacles, and read 
the words upon the slip. They were not many, 
but they seemed to startle him. He gave a 
glance of rapid inquiry at Pierre. Then he 
read the lines again. 

" Why ! What is it ? " he said. " This is 
most singular. This is — my faith ! Pierre, it 
may be — it is the missing record! And you 
found it — where ? " 

Pierre shrugged his shoulders. " That is my 
affair, Citizen. Does it tell you anything ? " 

Did it not, though ? For this is what good 
Citizen Daunou read on that frayed and dingy 
bit of paper : 

"... — izen Jules Marcel of the Street of the Straight 
Wall, to bring up as good patriots and as children of 
the Republic." 

" Marcel ? Marcel ? Jules Marcel ? " mused 
Citizen Daunou, tapping his forehead. " Why, 
that was the husband of Mademoiselle's nurse. 
He was a sansculotte. And from her must 
have come — A light ! A light ! Pierre ! I 
see a light ! And the Emperor said I was 
but an owl ! I was, my faith ! I was. Will 
you give me this, lad ? I must study it out, 
and think it over. And — why is it with 
you ? " 

" The Emperor's commission. Citizen," said 


the boy inspector. " He said to me, ' Find 
this out for me.' And I have found it." 

" Have you shown it to him yet ? " asked 
Citizen Daunou. 

" No, Citizen," Pierre replied ; '• for have 
you not the rest of the paper ? " 

" To be sure; so I have — at the Archives," 
the Keeper admitted. " Let me but fit the 
pieces together, and unravel the tangled 
threads. I must study it out with certainty. 
Trust me, you shall have all the glory of the 
find, my Pierre." 

" Oh, as for that, my friend," — another 
shrug, — " if it solves the riddle, and does those 
we know a service, it is glory enough for me. 
It is my life — such things as this, Citizen." 

There was no doubt that Pierre's cleverness 
had brought about an important result. But 
so, too, had Philip's loyalty led to results 
equally important in that young patriot's esti- 
mation. For one bright day in March, as he 
awaited in the Tuileries garden the pleasure of 
good Madame de Montesquiou, the governess 
of the little King of Rome, he spied the Em- 
peror pacing the path, head bent, and hands 
behind his back — his best-remembered attitude. 

" So, Monsieur the Page, are you there ? " 
he said. " I have been thinking of you. Al- 
most seventeen, eh ? And here is all France 
rallying around the eagles. It is Young 
France's opportunity for glory. It .shall be 
yours. And you — you, my Philip," he went on 
eagerly; "look now ! You are nearly seventeen. 
You are sturdy and strong. Sometimes you 
play the fool, but you are true-hearted and 
faithful. You know the ways of palaces. You 
can read; you can write; you can ride; you 
can draw plans ; you can foot up figures ; you 
can obey orders quickly and with brains. You 
are too good for a private soldier, or even a 
sub-lieutenant; you are not good enough for a 
captain or a private secretary. You shall join 
my new flying squadron of field secretaries — 
my unofficial aides-de-camp. You shall go to 
the wars with me as one of my new officers 
of ordonnance." 

" Oh, Sire ! in that splendid uniform of blue 
and silver ? " cried the page. 

" Hear the boy ! " laughed the Emperor, 
tweaking the page's ear. " I give him a chance 




for glory, and he chatters about his uniform. It is not for me, but for France, that you labor. 
Look, your Majesty," and he pulled Philip to- For France, the mother of us all." 
ward the little King's carriage, once again in There were others besides Philip to stand up 
his path, " here 's a fellow who thinks more of for France ; to shed their blood for France ; to 
his rig-out of blue and silver than of France conquer, even to die, for the glory of France. 

But there were others, 
forced to serve in the 
great army of three 
hundred thousand men 
which as if by magic 
had risen from the 
earth at the Emperor's 
command, who were 
drilling and marching 
against their will, and 
only because of the 
strong arm of military 
despotism. There were 
many who might will- 
ingly fight for France, 
but not for the Empe- 
ror. The nation desired 
peace, the Emperor 
commanded war ; and 
many followed his ea- 
gles against their will. 
But let justice be 
done Napoleon. 

" I desire peace," he 
said at the opening 
of that battle-spring of 
1813. "It is necessary 
to the world. But I will 
never make any peace 
which is not honorable 
and in conformity with 
the greatness of my 
Empire. Our enemies 
seek the disruption of 

and the Emperor. What can your Majesty the Empire. They proclaim universal war. I 
make of such a dandy?" will conquer them, and bring peace through vic- 

" No, no, Sire; do not say that ! " Philip pro- tory, and give greatness and glory to France." 
tested, flushed with excitement and pleasure. So, bent on his purpose, the Emperor has- 
" But you quite took away my breath with your tened his preparations for war. The Empress 
kindness. I have never dreamed of anything was made Regent of France, to reign in his 
so glorious. And I ? Hear me, Sire ! I will absence and in his name; and, rank upon rank, 


serve you faithfully." 

"I believe you will try, boy Philip — boy no 
longer, now," the Emperor said kindly. " See 
that you keep that promise. And remember! 

the battalions in blue marched toward the Prus- 
sian frontier. 

On April 15, 1813, Napoleon left St. Cloud to 
take command of his assembled armies. 




/'• i 





4PH .■■ W 

'"■"IS?-' IIP'' 



Philip was to accompany him. The boy was 
full of confidence and hope, and so inspired his 
friends with his bright enthusiasm that even 
Uncle Fauriel gave the lad his blessing, while 
Mademoiselle went into ecstasies over his fine 
appearance, and Corporal Peyrolles was sure 
" his boy " would return a marshal at least. 

At the Tuileries the Emperor joined his staff 
and his escort of the Guard. There Philip was 
to join him, and there, on the morning of that 
momentous fifteenth of April, the boy ordon- 
nance-officer reported for duty. 

Thither had come Pierre and Peyrolles to 
bid him good-by; and, with Uncle Fauriel as 
escort, thither came Mademoiselle, bravely smil- 
ing through her tears. 

The Emperor, in his well-known green uni- 
form and famous cocked hat, appeared in the 
portal of the palace ; the last good-bys were 
being said ; and, now that the time for separa- 

tion had actually come, Philip and Mademoi- 
selle felt just a trifle awkward. 

Even the Emperor had an eye for this little 
scene, and was on the point of making some 
characteristic remark, when through the crowd 
burst Citizen Daunou, his chapeau awry, his 
white hair all about his ears. 

Excited and unceremonious, he cried out as 
soon as he found the little group, " It fits, Sire ! 
The paper fits. I am an owl no longer. Em- 
brace our Philip, Mademoiselle. It is your 
right. Bid him God-speed for France ! I have 
made a discovery ! You are not Mademoiselle 
Daunou, as you thought; nor Lucie Marcel, as 
I thought when I adopted you as my daughter 
from the home of the sansculotte. Embrace 
our Philip, Mademoiselle. It is your duty, I 
say. For you are Mademoiselle Lucie Des- 
nouettes. You are of the best blood of France. 
And Philip — Philip is your brother!" 

(To be continued.) 


By Garrett Newkirk. 




By Emilie Poubson. <m 

These are the eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

This is the nest where the eggs were found — 
The pretty white eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

This is the pigeon with soft gray breast 
AVho sat all day on the loose straw nest 
The nest where the pretty white eggs were 

found — 
Her own little eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

This is the pigeon-house safe and high 
(Where never a prowling cat could pry) 
Where lived the pigeon with soft gray breast 
Who sat all day on the loose straw nest- — 
The nest where the pretty white eggs were 

found — 
Her own little eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

This is the barn which the farmer had filled 
With hay and grain from the fields he had 

tilled — 
The barn near which stood the pigeon-house 

(Where never a prowling cat could pry) — 
Where lived the pigeon with soft gray breast 
Who sat all day on the loose straw nest — 
The nest where the pretty white eggs were 

found — 
Her own little eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

6 9 6 



This is the bin full of corn so good, 
The little gray pigeon's favorite food, 
That was in the barn which the farmer had 

With hay and grain from the fields he had 

tilled — 
The barn near which stood the pigeon-house 

(Where never a prowling cat could pry) — 
Where lived the pigeon with soft gray breast 
Who sat all day on the loose straw nest — 
The nest where the pretty white eggs were 

found — 
Her own little eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

This is the child so thoughtful 
and kind 
Who went to the bin the corn to 
find — 
he bin full of corn so yellow and good, 
The little gray pigeon's favorite food, 
That was in the barn which the farmer had 

With hay and grain from the fields he had 

tilled — 
The barn near which was the pigeon-house high 
(Where never a prowling cat could pry) — 
Where lived the pigeon with soft gray breast 
Who sat all day on the loose straw nest — 
The nest where the pretty white eggs were 

found — 
Her own little eggs so smooth and round 
That held the wonderful secret. 

And when the child threw the corn about, 
The little gray pigeon came fluttering out 
From the door of the pigeon-house safe and high, 
And the child heard a faint little cooing cry — 
A sweet little, wee little murmuring sound : 
For instead of the eggs so smooth and round 
(Perhaps the wonderful secret you 've guessed) 
Two baby pigeons were in the nest ! 

Vol. XXII. 

- -^ 


While visiting the "Zoo " some time ago, I took my 
children to see the elephant, and to give them a ride. 
After the ride I waited to give the elephant a bun, and, to 
make him say " Please," said, "Salaam kuro" — that is, 
" Make a salaam. " The animal looked at me hard for some 
time, with the bun in my hand ; at last memory came to his 
help, and up went his trunk, and he made a most correct 
" salaam." The keeper seemed very much surprised, and 
asked me what it meant. I told him it was a point of 
good manners for an elephant to raise his trunk up to his 
forehead if any one was going to feed him, and that fre- 
quently elephants will ask in this polite manner for some- 
thing when they see any one pass by who is likely to 
feed them. 

The keeper assured me he had never seen the elephant 
do this before, — and, if I remember rightly, he had been 
in charge of the animal since it arrived from India, — and 
that it was one of those which took part in the grand 
procession at Agra when his Royal Highness the Prince 
of Wales visited India. There I doubtless saw it. 
For seventeen years this animal had never heard these 
words, and had always taken his food without this mark 
of good manners ; but now I dare say the keeper makes 
him remember his youthful good training, and the little 
children will see on their visits to the " Zoo " this in- 
stance of "always say please." — Exchange. 


Bridgeport, March 2. — The officers of the steamer 
" Nutmeg State," plying between this city and New York, 
had a fine dinner of wild duck yesterday. On Wednes- 
day, when the steamer left this city at midnight, Captain 
Wilcox noticed that a flock of ducks hovered around the 
boat. When off Penfield Reef ice was found floating in 
the Sound in large quantities, and the search-light was 
turned on. A short time afterward Captain Wilcox heard 
a great flapping of wings, and by the rays of the powerful 
light savv a large flock of ducks circle again and again 
around the boat. Suddenly they turned and darted 
straight toward the light. 

They struck the thick glass of the search-light and the 
iron box surrounding it, the pilot-house and the smoke- 
stack. The passengers were awakened, and many came 
on deck. When the excitement was over it was found 

that fully a score of the birds had been killed. It is prob- 
able that many more were so badly injured that they died 
and fell into the water after the boat had passed on. One 
of the windows in the pilot-house was smashed. — New- 
York Tribune. 


Giraffes have become very scarce since the dervishes 
seized the basin of the upper Nile. They were once to be 
bought for about ^240 each ; now a good giraffe would 
fetch over ^1000. The Jardin d'Acclimatation at Paris 
recently refused to sell three very young ones for ^2000. 
Elephants range in price from ^£16010^480. — -Exchange. 


The largest nugget found in North Carolina weighed 
80 pounds. The largest ever found in Siberia weighed 96 
pounds and 4 ounces. The largest piece of gold ever 
found in Colorado weighed 13 pounds, and this was by 
no means pure gold. The largest ever found in the world 
was in Australia in 1852, and was known as the King of 
the Water Moon nugget. It weighed 223 pounds and 4 
ounces, and was worth about $40,000. — San Francisco 


A California writer states that the whole of our sixty- 
five millions of people could dwell in the three States of 
California, Nebraska, and Kansas without producing a 
greater density of population than there is in Japan, Eng- 
land, or several other countries. In the two Chinese prov- 
inces of Kiang-Suand Ngan-Hui, the area of which is but 
two thirds as large as that of California, there are over 
sixty millions who find the means of life. — Exchange. 


It has been generally conceded that St. Augustine, 
Fla., is the oldest white settlement in the United States, 
having been founded by Melendez in the year 1565 ; but 
there is evidence to show that the town of Tucson, in 
Arizona, antedates St. Augustine by at least thirteen 
years. In the year 1552 their Catholic Majesties Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella of Spain issued a charter to and for the 
pueblo of Tucson, which, after having been mislaid for a 
matter of three hundred years or more, has recently been 
discovered among the archives of the Church of San 
Xavier del Bac, which is situated about ten miles below 
the present town of Tucson. 

Accompanying the charter of the pueblo of Tucson is 
an account, written in the handwriting of Padre Marco 
Niza, of the founding of the pueblo. Padre Niza was a 
Jesuit who accompanied the expedition organized in the 
City of Mexico for the exploration of Arizona and New 
Mexico, under the charge of Coronado, the function of 
the worthy padre having been the Christianizing of the 
natives and the recording of the progress and exploits of 
the expedition. If his account is to be received as histor- 
ical, — and every presumption is in its favor, — a church 
was founded at San Xavier del Bac, and a small town 



begun to support and protect the church, on the site of 
the Indian village of Tucson, the name having been pre- 
served until the present day. — San Francisco Chronicle. 


BOYHOOD owes a debt of gratitude to The British 
Medical Journal, which, in one of its recent issues, ex- 
plodes the popular belief with regard to early rising. 
This leading medical authority takes the part of the 
sleepy youth against his wakeful parents. We learn now 
that it is natural and proper for elderly people to rise at 
5 or 6 A. M., because their vascular system has become 
stiff; but that it is equally natural and proper for the 
healthy boy to keep his bed till 8. Henceforth boys 
must deny themselves such violent delights as rising 
with the lark, and their elders must cease encouraging 
them in so vicious a practice. The early worm may be 
all very well for the early-rising parent, if his tastes lie 
in that direction ; but there are more palatable articles of 
food at the disposal of the boy who gets up later in the 
day, which derive additional savor from the conviction 
that by lying abed he has done justice to his vascular 
system. It is a great thing to have a vascular system — 
especially for boys. — New-York Tribune. 


A Curious Battle in the Air Ended by a Charge of 

Scranton, Pa. 

Mr. Luther T. Walling, of Bradford County, went 
into the North Mountain region of Sullivan County a few 
days ago to hunt deer with a party of Lackawanna Val- 
ley sportsmen. When they had established their camp 
the hunters made an agreement not to fire at anything 
but deer, the penalty for breaking the rule being a fine 
of $5. 

While standing on a runway the second day, Mr. 
Walling's attention was attracted to a fierce battle in 
mid-air directly over the ravine, and the fight became so 
interesting that he forgot all about deer for the time. 

The winged belligerents were an eagle and a raven. 
Apparently the eagle had started to fly from one moun- 
tain-top to another, and had been attacked by the raven 
before it had gone far. The eagle had a bird in its 
claws, and it was evident that the raven was trying to 
make it drop its prey. When Mr. Walling caught sight 
of the warring birds, the raven had the best of the fight. 
It dived and struck the eagle on the back a number of 
times, the eagle contenting itself with shooting out at the 
raven with its bill, but failing to hit it. 

At length the raven worried the eagle to such an ex- 
tent that the latter arose in the air with great swiftness, 
far above its tormentor, and then dived toward it with the 
speed of a meteor. The raven understood the eagle's 
tactics perfectly, for it evaded the fatal stroke just in the 
nick of time, and the eagle swooped to within 200 feet of 
the ground before it curved for another upward flight. 
At that moment the pugnacious raven struck it again, 
and once more the eagle arose high in the air and made 
another futile dart at the raven. This was repeated seven 
or eight times with a like result. 

Then the raven clawed a mass of feathers from the 
eagle's back, and after another race skyward and down- 
ward, the eagle, seeming to have got enough of the bat- 
tle, started to wing its way to the opposite mountain-top. 
It still clung to its prey, and the raven, which was as full 
of fight as ever, renewed the attack so furiously that the 
eagle was compelled to change its mind about seeking 
shelter in the timber. It fought the raven off until the 
battle-field was in about the same point of the sky that the 


fight had begun, or almost directly over the spot where 
Mr. Walling was standing in the bushes. 

While witnessing the battle it occurred to Mr. Wal- 
ling that the hunting-party had been talking about the 
difficulty of shooting ravens the night before. One of the 
sportsmen had said that he would give $10 for a perfect 
specimen of a raven to put in his collection of stuffed 
birds; and the remembrance of that fact caused Mr. 
Walling to make up his mind to shoot at the raven, even 
if he had to sacrifice his chance of killing a deer. 

So the next time the raven dived at the eagle, Mr. 
Walling fired at it with a charge of buckshot. Both birds 
tumbled into the briers a few rods away, and both were 
dead when Mr. Walling reached them. The raven, 
which was as large as three ordinary crows, had been 
killed by a buckshot under its left wing, and its skin was 
in perfect condition for the taxidermist. The eagle, a 
large bald one, had a red-tailed hawk in its talons when 
it died with three buckshot in its body. 

Instead of resuming his watch on the runway, Mr. 
Walling trudged back to camp at once with his feathered 
game. When his fellow-sportsmen returned, he sold the 
raven for $10, paid the penalty for shooting at something 
besides deer, and put $5 in his pocket. — New-York Sun. 


Many authors have attempted to answer this question, 
but none have succeeded. Theoretically, the solution 
has been attempted by counting the number of wing- 
beats per second, and from that to guess the distance the 
bees fly from their hives. The results have differed 
widely, varying from two to twelve English miles. Ac- 
cording to Professor Marey's " graphic method," the bees 
make 190 wing-beats per second. His method consists 
in fastening a bee in such a way that its wings are free to 
move, one of them touching lightly a rotating cylinder 
covered with a smooth and lightly blackened paper. 
Professor Landois, who has studied the sound-apparatus 
of many animals, thinks, from the pitch of the sounds 
made by the vibrating wings, that they move to and fro 
at the rate of 400 vibrations per second — more than 
double Marey's results. 

According to Professor Marey's figures, 190 wing-beats 
per second would bring the bee over a distance of one 
English mile per minute. If Professor Landois is right, 
the distance would be two miles. According to these 
estimates, it will not be far from the truth to say that 
bees fly about thirty English miles an hour, or that, dur- 
ing an absence of twenty minutes from the hive, they fly 
about ten to twelve miles. Most observers, however, 
are inclined to think that the bees do not fly more than 
eighteen to twenty miles an hour, because the wing-beats 
of a bee in freedom and under the observer's instrument 
are not the same. Every one has observed the com- 
paratively slow flight of the bee when returning home, 
loaded with honey and pollen. Practical examination 
shows that experiments of this kind are not entirely re- 
liable. Better results are obtained by observing bees in 
districts where bees never before were found, or by in- 
troducing yellow bees where only gray or brown ones 
are known, or vice versa. In such cases it has been seen 
that the bees never went more than four to five English 
miles away, at the utmost. The usual distance was two 
miles. One instance is known where a bee-keeper on an 
island seven miles from the coast of Texas found that his 
bees went to the mainland for honey and pollen. A 
practical bee-keeper does not expect any great results 
from flower-fields three miles away. They should be no 
more than two miles away, in a straight line. — Exchange. 


Contributors are respectfully informed that between the ist of June and the 15th of September manuscripts cannot conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 


Since the publication of the article " The Last Voyage 
of the ' Constitution,' " in St. Nicholas for February, we 
have received from two correspondents criticisms upon 
the story told about the jumping of the boy from the 
masthead. Certainly, it could not have been true in 
regard to Commodore Hull, as he had no children. One 
correspondent says that he has heard the incident told 
as occurring in the British navy at a period earlier than 
Hull's time. It is at least doubtful, also, whether any 
boy could make the leap described, so as to clear the 
sides of a ship as wide as the Constitution, unless the ves- 
sel was rolling. But the ballad beginning " Old Ironsides 
at anchor lay, in the harbor at Mahon," is so familiar to 
every school-boy that it may well excuse Mr. Benjamin 
for retelling the story there told of the Constitution, 
though the basis of the ballad is perhaps little more than 
a legend. 

A "Savannah Reader" asks us to say that by the 
census taken in January, 1895, the city of Savannah, 
Georgia, showed a population of 62,279. These figures 
are of course later than were available for the "Rhymes 
of the States." 

Mary A. G. — Please send your address again to the 


Salem, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have never seen any letter 
from Witch City, though I have seen one from Boston, 
which is only seventeen miles from here. 

Salem is the clearest old place in the world, / think. 
It has so many old buildings, tablets, and so on, with 
Baker's Island, Marblehead, and "The Willows" (all pop- 
ular summer resorts), and two museums for amusements 
when others fail. " The Old Church " (the first church 
built in Massachusetts) is still standing, and is a funny 
little old place. The " Witch House " is also standing, 
and there are people living there. "Gallows Hill " (the 
hill where the gallows stood in " Witch Times ") is on 
the road to Peabody, which is quite near here. 

At the latter place the citizens are about to celebrate 
the birth of George Peabody, after whom the town was 
named. He founded the great Peabody Institute. 

There is a great deal I could write about Peabody, 
but I will leave that for another time. 

Salem is the birthplace of Hawthorne, the great author 
who wrote " The House of the Seven Gables," and many 
other romances. The same house is still standing, and 
somebody lives there. 

In closing my description of Salem, I will add that 
Marblehead is a popular summer resort, and in its harbor 
fishing, boating, and racing are carried on quite exten- 
sively. I remain your admiring friend and reader, 

Ethel G. H . 

entertaining articles. We are very much interested in 
" Brownies." We had a" Brownie " entertainment here 
in town this season. The principal characters were : 
Indian, Indian maiden, Uncle Sam, College Student, 
Sailor Boy, Dude, Toboggan Slider, and many others of 
less importance. They all were very nice, as each had 
some amusing thing to do or say, which made it very 
interesting. The part of the dude was taken by a pretty 
little brown-eyed girl who sang " I am a Dashing Brow- 
nie Swell, as You Can Plainly See," and acted it out 
The Indian maiden was equally good, speaking a very 
nice piece. The part of the Sailor Boy was taken to 
perfection by a very small boy who sang a very appro- 
priate song. 

Herbie set a dozen and a half of bantam eggs last fall, 
and got two banties who are great pets. 

Long life to the St. Nicholas. 

Ever your friends, Bertha E. N . 

Herbert R. E . 

Amarillo, Texas. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We first commenced to take 
you in November, 1S94. We enjoy you ever so much, 
and hope we can take you for many years. 

I live in the " Panhandle." We have n't any trees here ; 
we have to go three or four miles to see any trees. The 
people here have planted a few trees in town. The 
people of Amarillo have a good many picnics in the sum- 
mer ; they have them on the creeks or canon. The canon 
is a very interesting place; it is very large, and runs 
through a great many towns. I will give some of the 
names of parts of the canon : The Lakes, Chalk Canon, 
Whispering Cave, The Falls, and then there are parts 
that are not named, and parts that I do not know. 

Your reader, Floriede W . 

Dear St. Nicholas: 
lives in St. John, N. B. 
and I like it very much ; 

Montreal, P. Q. 
I have a very nice uncle who 
He sends me St. Nicholas, 
this will be the second year I 
have taken you. The story I like best is "Tom Sawyer 
Abroad " ; I have read it twice. 

I used to live in St. John, but came here last July, and, 
oh ! I was so home-sick for dear old St. John. I did n't 
know any little girls here, and for two whole months I 
never got St. Nicholas, and you don't know how lone- 
some the days were ; at last, one morning, the postman 
brought me two numbers, and I was so glad to get them 
that I cried, for I just felt as if I had got one of my old 
St. John friends back again. 

I like Montreal much better now than I did. I go to 
Miss Gardiner's school, and many of the girls there are 
very nice. We have lots of snow here, and papa takes 
us for such lovely sleigh-drives ; and if you come up here 
I will get him to take you, too, and I am sure you would 
like it. 

Believe me, dear St. Nicholas, one of your Canadian 
friends, Gwladys D . 

Taunton, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are two neighbors who live 
next to each other. We take your delightful maga- 
zine, and spend many happy hours poring over your 

Glebe House, Rochdale, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am fairly well acquainted with 
you, as I have had you for eight years, but have never 
written to you before. I am at school at Rugby. I don't 


know if its routine would be interesting to you. We are 
waked at 6:30, and have to be in our places in the school 
chapel at 7. There is a short service till 7:15, and 
then first lesson till 8:15. Then we all separate to 
our various houses for breakfast. After breakfast there 
is usually about three quarters of an hour to ourselves. 
Then we have to prepare for second lesson, which is 
from 10:15 to 11:15; tms does not apply to the whole 
school : some, those who learn chemistry, go in on their 
proper days from 9:15 to 10. Third lesson is either from 
11:15 t0 I2:I 5> or 12:15 t0 I:I 5 — >' depends on the form 
you are in, and what masters you are under. In the 
afternoon, the times vary considerably; I can't give you 
any proper notion of them. Fifth lesson is from 5 to 6. 
In the summer term, locking-up is at 7:30. Locking-up 
is, as its name implies, locking the house-doors, so that 
no one can get out. But in the Christmas term it gets 
gradually earlier and earlier, till it is at 4:30. This is 
on half-holidays only; on the others, of course, we are 
in school. We have three half-holidays a week. At 
3 o'clock we have " calling over " in Old Big School 
(generally called " C. O."), and after that we go to our 
games. We have two racquet courts, and a good 
number of hand-fives courts. 

The evenings of the days we have to ourselves, except 
that we have preparation for first lesson to do some time. 
For the middle school, and the lower, there is " prepara- 
tion" from 7:30 to 9:15; and they prepare their work 

As to holidays, we have eight or nine weeks at mid- 
summer, and four at Christmas and Easter. When 
Easter falls on a certain date, however, we have five at 
Christmas and three at Easter, as we are having this 
year. I should like to know how we compare with your 
average school. 

I think "Decatur and Somers" was a good story. 
Best wishes for good luck and long life from 

B. H . 

Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Though I have always been 
one of your warmest friends, I have never yet aspired 
to the dignity of seeing my letter in the "Letter-box." 

By the post-mark you will see that I live in " The City 
of Groves and Bowers," and of course, as the capital of 
the United States, it is the best and most beautiful city 
in the world. With its wide, shady streets and stately 
houses, it can be spoken of only in the superlative degree. 

Good-by, dear St. Nicholas. 

Nannie M. K . 

Philadelphia, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : As we have taken you six years 
I thought it would be nice to write you a letter. My 
father is an officer in the United States Navy. We live 
now at League Island Navy Yard, but we used to live at 
Annapolis, Maryland, aboard the old frigate the " Santee. " 
There, my father was in charge of ships, and we went out 
in a steam-launch almost every day. Beside the Santee 
were the " Wyoming " and " Passaic " along the wharf. It 
was very interesting to watch the cadets practise in the 
rigging of the Wyoming. Here, we live in a house two 
miles from the city, near the water, opposite the marine 
barracks, where we can see the marines drill. Occasion- 
ally my father has a chance to take us to Cramp's ship- 
yard, where were built the " Minneapolis " and the " Co- 
lumbia," the two fastest cruisers afloat. It is great fun 
to see the men there — numbering about six thousand — 
go home to dinner. I liked best in the St. Nicholas 
for April " Chris and the Wonderful Lamp," and " Jack 
Ballister's Fortunes." I remain your devoted reader, 

Samuel V . 


Dresde, Allemagne. 

Cher St. Nicholas : Je suis une petite fille Ameri- 
caine agee de dix ans. Je veux vous dire ce que j'ai fait 
pendant les vacances de l'ete passe. Je suis allee a 
Mittenwald au sud de la Baviere. La on construit les 
meilleurs violons de toute l'Allemagne. Nous avons fait 
beaucoup de tours a pied et en bicycle. Parmi les pre- 
miers, l'ascension de la Zugspitze, qui est de trois mille 
pieds plus haut que Mt. Washington. 

Certains passages sont tres raides, et l'etablissement 
d'escaliers en fer a ete necessaire pour les gravir. Une 
fois nous avons fait trente-deux lieues en bicycle, en 
montant et descendant des collines. Vos histoires me 
plaisent beaucoup, et l'arrivee du St. Nicholas est 
toujours un plaisir pour moi. J'aime " Decatur and Som- 
ers " beaucoup. Je vous souhaite une bonne annee, en 
restant voire lectrice interessee. 

Rachel W . 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to write and tell you 
about a house-garden which I own. I have it in a small 
room in the back part of the house. This room has two 
windows with broad window seats. In one window I 
have a large box containing violets. In the other window 
I have geraniums and heliotrope. I water my flowers 
every day, and they afford me much pleasure. When I 
go to the hospital 1 take some flowers and your famous 
magazine with me. All the children at the hospital are 
crazy about you, and on the twenty-fifth of each month 
I take you to them. 

I am your faithful friend and interested reader, 

Mary G. E . 

Andrews, Ind. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you ever since 
1886, and enjoy reading you very much. I have read 
all of your continued stories and enjoyed them all. 
There is an old lady in our neighborhood who is an in- 
valid and just stays in a large chair ; and as she loves to 
read, I take you over to her, and she likes your stories 
very much. I am your constant reader, 

Alice C. B . 

New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I was twelve years old on the 
fourteenth of this month, and for a birthday present papa 
took me to visit Helen Keller, about whom I had read in 
St. Nicholas. I talked to her by putting her fingers 
to my lips while I spoke, and she talked to me like any- 
one else, only it took me a little while to get used to her 
pronunciation. Before I went away I could understand 
all she said perfectly. 

I told her that I played golf, and she said, " That is a 
Greek game, is it not?" and then, at her teacher's re- 
quest, told the story of Hyacinthus, who was killed by 
Apollo with a discus while playing. 

She read Tennyson's " The Brook " for me from one of 
her volumes printed in raised letters, and she said that 
she liked many books which I had also read, such as 
" Little Women," " Little Lord Fauntleroy," " David 
Copperfiekl," and " A Tale of Two Cities." 

I do not know what impressed me the most, but I have 
thought a great deal about my visit, and the idea that she 
can know so little of what is disagreeable and wicked seems 
very beautiful to me. She of course knows nothing 
but kindness from those who have taken care of her, and 
what she has read has been so carefully selected that her 
idea of the world must be a charming one. 

Sincerely your friend, Eleanor A. H . 



The Real " Mary " and her Lamb. 

Waterbury, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am sure that all of your 
readers have known the verses of " Mary's Little Lamb " 
some time, though I suppose that the greater number of 
them now consider themselves too grown up to care for 

I wonder how many of them know that Mary and her 
little lamb both lived and grew up like all other little 
girls and little lambs. 

Her name was Mary Sawyer, and she was born March 
22, 1806, in the pretty town of Sterling, in Worcester 
County, Massachusetts. 

When she was still a little girl, her father brought into 
the house a little lamb which was sick and almost dead. 
Mary wanted the little thing, and she took such good and 
tender care of it that it soon became well and strong. 

It became very much attached to its little mistress and 
wished to be wherever she was. 

At this time Mary went to school at the district school- 
house with the other farmers' children. One day the lamb 
followed her to the school-house and walked into school 
behind her. It greatly amused the children as well as 
the teacher. 

That day John Rollstone, a young student, was visit- 
ing the school. A few days after this, as Mary was 
coining out of school, he rode up to the door and handed 
her a slip of paper on which were written the first two 
verses of the rhyme which we all know. These were 
afterward added to by some one else. 

The lamb grew to be quite old and was at last killed by 
a cow. 

Mary's mother made her a pair of stockings out of the 
lamb's snowy fleece. 

Mary afterward became Mrs. Tyler, and lived in Somer- 
ville, near Boston. She had always kept the stockings. 

About this time there was a talk about tearing down 
the Old South Church in Boston, and some ladies had a 
fair to raise money to save it. 

And Mary Tyler, who was then an old lady, raveled 
out the stockings, cut the yarn into little pieces, and 
fastening each piece on a card, she wrote on every one 
of them herself. They were sold at the fair and brought 
in a large sum of money in aid of The Old South Church. 

Annt Mary was a dear old lady, and all the St. Nicho- 
las boys and girls would like to have seen her and her 
beautiful home in Somerville. She died December 10, 
1SS9, at the age of eighty-three years. 

We take the St. Nicholas and like it very much. 

Yours truly, Mary's Great-grandniece. 

New Orleans, La. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a resident of the Crescent 

I would like to tell you about Mardi Gras. You know 
of course, that Mardi Gras means Fat Tuesday — well, 
every year in New Orleans it is celebrated. This year, 
Monday, the day before Mardi Gras, King Rex came in, 
and then at night there was a lovely parade, which we all 
enjoyed very much. We watched the procession pass by 
from the gallery of the Boston Club, clown on Canal street. 

Tuesday morning there was another procession. But 
at night the procession was simply grand. The subject 
was "Old Songs"; some of the floats were "Coming 
through the Rye," "Gaily the Troubadour," "In the 
Merry Month of May." This last float was very pretty ; 
in the center of it was a May pole with long ribbons, and 
a dozen boys and girls dressed in old-fashioned costumes 
were holding them and dancing around the pole. Another 
was the "Mistletoe Bough" — I suppose you have all 
heard this sad story, and if you have not you had better 
run and ask your mama or papa to tell you. But the 

float that was most interesting to us was "Dixie." On 
this float in front were several large bales of cotton, on 
which were lounging several men with black masks on 
who looked like negroes ; in the center, raised a little above 
the rest, was growing some sugar-cane that looked very 
natural ; last, but not least, on the back of the float were 
four or five enormous oranges, about a foot in diameter. 
These, of course, were not natural. The band also 
marched in front of the float and played the air of 

There were either nineteen or twenty floats, and the 
last one was " Home, Sweet Home." 

A great many people went home as soon as the pro- 
cession was over, but my friends and I waited till a great 
deal of the crowd had dispersed, and then we went home. 
That night we were so tired that for once we were will- 
ing to go to bed, and we did not want to get up Wed- 
nesday morning and goto school, but we were obliged to. 

To speak about yourself, my dear St. Nicholas, I 
must say I don't think I could do without you. I am a 
great book worm and would read all day if Mama would 
let me ; but it does not matter how interesting a book 
may be, if Papa comes in with you, I always leave it as 
quick as a flash and take you away from him before he 
has set his foot in the door, and begin to read you. 

We had a snow-storm on St. Valentine's Day, which 
was the deepest snow that the people of New Orleans had 
ever seen. It snowed about twelve hours, and the average 
depth was ten inches. Everybody turned out, for some 
of the people had never seen any snow before, and they 
nearly went crazy over it. I was as much excited as 
any of them, though I had been born in Tennessee and 
had seen snow every year of my life until I came to New 
Orleans. It stayed on the ground for four days, and we 
all enjoyed going out in it. I had a great deal of fun 
myself, snowballing everybody that passed and getting 
snowballed myself. 

Your loving reader, Virgima N 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received : Julia M. , Mary P. , Charles J. O., 
Nancy L., Theodore D. R., Harriet E. S., Lizzie W. B., 
Everett T., Marion C. H., Julia B. F., Caroline DeF. P., 
H. G. H., M. Y., Mary S., Hope W., Ruth P., Bess and Su 
B., Mabel S., Rebecca P., Helen W., Miner S., Marjory F. 
H., Helene M., J. B. C, N. B. H., Louis S.Jr., Louis 
G. H., Caroline M. J., Nan V., Eugene T. W., Kate, 
Harold E. J., Mary S. P., Eleanor McC, Lena H., 
Matlie, H. F., Nellie M., D. Clifford J., Benj. A. L, 
Frank W., Ruth and Johnny C, May A., Charlie H., 
Anna A. H., Ewing R., Lizzie L. W., Mabel W., Mary 
E., Frankie S., Helen W., Fred W., Harold H., E. L. T., 
Emma H., Bertha G. M., St. George IC, Jr., Jane C. B., 
H. J. G., Marguerite H., W. H. J., Susan G., Edith L., 
Mabel R., M. M. M., E. Jackson T., Edith B. H., Vir- 
ginia N., L. E., Irene R., Nannie L., Fannie C. P., 
Louis H. H. W., Ida and Tessie W., Ethelred B., Bessie 
N., Marie B., Gladys J., Vida V., Alice J., Agnes Ethel 
C, Louis T. H., Howard P. B., Russell W. C, Helen 
G. B., Irene B., Olive M. L., Dorothy B., Louise G. C. 
and Elizabeth T. B., Blanche E. P., Florence E. T., G. 
Stanley S., Rosabelle B. N., Clotilde, Nelson B. W., Sue 
J., Harriet E. L., Charles T. M., Laura E. O., Carlton 
T. B., Lulu and Clarice H., Margaret D., Katharine P., 
Rose A. C, Maud W. N., T. A. P., Clara K., Mabel B., 
Francis T- H-, Helen S. C, Edgar G., Alice N., Gypsey 
M., Nellie M. C, Alexander S., Sidney L. S., F. H., 
Judith H., Maurice, M. O., Nannie A. N., Harry H. T., 
Donald H., Clara M. T., Virginia W., Marguerite and 
May, Florence G, Guy G., Phi'lip E., Hazel S., M. E. D., 
Harriet P. F.Jean R., Edna R., Gladys IC, Cora M. B., 
M. C. Annzella P., May W. 



Illustrated Primal Acrostic. Primals, Defoe, i. Dragon- 
fly. 2. Elk. 3. Flamingo. 4. Owl. 5. Eagle. 

Zigzag. Sir William Wallace. Cross-words : 1 Solid. 2. Sigma. 
3. Orris. 4. Crawl. 5. Chili. 6. Fable. 7. Helot 8. Jiffy. 9. Above 
10. Impel. 11. Gowan. 12. Cleat. 13. Swell. 14. Dwell. 15. Roach. 
16. Ochre. 17. Erato. 
Pi. Birds are noisy, — bees are humming, 

All because the May is coming ; 
All the tongues of Nature shout, 
Out from town, from cities out ! 
Out from every busy street ! 
Out from every darkened court! 
Through the field-paths let your feet 
Lingering go in pleasant thought ! 
Dress Materials, i. Cambric. 2. Percale. 3. Satin, 
ram. 5. Cashmere. 6. Henrietta. 7. Muslin. 8. Organdie. 9. 

Word-square, i. Trace. 2. Redan. 3. Adorn. 
5. Ennew. 

4. Buck- 
. Brocade. 
4. Carte. 

A Variety of Gates, i. Irrigate. 2. Abrogate. 3. Delegate. 
4. Subjugate. 5. Surrogate. 6. Fumigate. 7. Variegate. 8. Miti- 
gate. 9. Vulgate. 10. Agate. 11. Arrogate. 12. Derogate. 

Riddle. Lime. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, crocodile; finals, chameleon. Cross- 
words: 1. Cubic. 2. Rajah. 3. Omega. 4. Charm. 5. Obole. 

6. Drill. 7. Indue. 8. Limbo. 9. Ellen. 
A Flight of Stairs, i. Cat. 2. Catsup. 3. Supper. 4. Per- 
mit. 5. Mitten. 6. Tendon. 7. Donate. 8. Ate. 

Double Diagonals. Juvenal and Terence. Cross-words: 1. Ja- 
conet. 2. Aurated. 3. Reverie. 4. Mileage. 5. Tenancy. 6. Scandal. 

7. Em pearl. 
Connected Squares. I. 1. Camp. 2. Aloe. 3. Moor. 4. Pert. 

II. 1. Carp. 2. Area. 3. Real. 4. Palm. 

Rhyming Blanks. Fair, rare, care, stair, swear, bear, tear, wear, 
spare, dare, hair, bare, pair, flare, glare, where, mare, air, there, fare, 
stare, pear, blare, bear, hare, square. 

To our Puzzlers : Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and should 
be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 15th, from "LordClive," — Sigourney Fay 
Nininger — L. O. E. — Josephine Sherwood — J. Chapman and J. Fletcher — S. L. B. 

Answers to Puzzles is the March Number were received, before March 15th, from Frederick Shoemaker, 2 — Pauline, 1 — 
'* Berwyners," 2 — Emilie Wise, 1 — Frederick G. Foster, 1 — G. B. Dyer, 10 — No Name, Phila., 4 — Beatrice Livingston, 3 — Kenneth 
and Arlene, 1 — Arthur G. Corey, 1 — E. H. and J. W. H. Jr., 1 — Davila S. Du Brul, 2 — No Name, Ohio St., 1 — Ned Strouse, 1 — 
Margaret Carter, 1 — Mary K. Raise, 1 — Louisa Beal Barker, 2 — Calla A. Guyles, 1 — No Name. Pittsburgh, 1 — Owen Thomas, 1 — 
Rella Miriam Low, 3 — Mabel Hamlin, 1 — Bessie and Lottie Cutting, 1 — No Name, New Castle, 1 — C. N. Briggs, 2 — Grace C. 
Webster, 1 — Louise M. Roe, 1 — S. W. F. and F. B. F. , 6 — Frank and Bryse, 4 — Elizabeth B. Fay, 1 — Fanny B. Ritchey, 1 — Mar- 
garet Tupper, 2 — "Samantha," 1 — Mary Paul Mase, 1 — Edith Nesmith, 1 — Virginia Watson, 1 — Eleanor Hayward, 1 — Sara and 
Mabel, 1 — Mary Kent, 4 — C. T. G. and E. C. F., 3 — Rhoda Braddock, 1 — Emma M. Smith, 2 — "Rasty H.," 5 — Graham Crume, 2 — 
George Bancroft Fernald, 11 — M. F. Lawton, 1 — Arthur D. Fiske. 1 — " Breeze Lawn," 4 — Leah Dreyfus, 3 — "Kitty Clover," 1 — 
"Midget," 10 — W. B. Gil!, 1 — Paul Reese, 11 — Eugene Thome Walter, 2 — Elizabeth, New Haven, 1 — Roland Bettman, 3 — Har- 
old Raymond, 1 — Wm. E. Suddath, 1 — Harriet, 4 — Bemice and Bessie Bell, 2 — Ethel Swire, 3' — Carolyn T. Salisbury, 1 — Frederic 
Calhoun, 2 — John Merchant, 3 — Oskytel H. C, 2 — Kenneth Lewis, 3 — Elisha S. Chapin, Jr., 1 — V. D. Schaefer, 3 — Grace L. 
Black, 1 — Genevieve Still, 1 — Beatrice and Constance Banker, 1 — J. A. K., 1 — Helen S. Coates, 7 — Constance S., 2 — " Roselyn 
Chips," 4 — Carrie and Philip, 1 — Effie K. Talboys, 6 — Mabel Riney, 1 — "Jess," 9 — Mary Wilson, 7 — "New Boy," 7 — Gwendo- 
lyn G. W. Williams, 1 — W. L., 10 — Gertrude Rutherford, 1 — Muriel, Winnie, and Lisle, 3 — Robert B. Farson, Jr., 3 — Katharine 
Dent Hull, 3 — A. C. S., 4 — Laura and Virginia, 1 — "Another Three," 2 — H. B. S., 6 — Clara A. Anthony, 6 — Charles Dwight 
Reid, 7 — Marie Louise Abbott, 2 — Alice Juhring, 1 — Ben, Jim, and Aunt Jack, 6 — Adelaide M. Gaither, 4 — Ella and Co., 11 — 
" Highmount Girls," 11 — Ralph W. Kiefer, 1 — W. Putnam, 3 — C. McC. L., 9 — Victor J. West, 2 — Mama and Sadie, 9 — Nelson B. 
Weeks, 4 — Clotilde, 3 — Donald L. and Isabel H. Noble, 11 — Odiorne Hatch, 2 — No Name, Nicetown, 2 — " Viele, Merson and Co.," 7 — 
E. A. J. Schmitt, 9 — Kathryn Lyon, 6 — Walter L. Haight, 10 — Azro and Charles Lewis, 4 — W. A. B. and F. J., 3 — Richard M. and 
Samuel J. Gummere, 4 — Florence Szegedy, 1 — -Webb and Co., 10 — " Brownies," 6 — Franklyn Farnsworth, 10 — Marjory Gane, 6 — Mar- 
guerite Sturdy, 3 — Merry and Co., 9 — Marian Stoner, 1 — Edith H. Whitehead, 1 — Charles Remington Adams, 9 — Grandma, Uncle, and 
Florence, 8 — Mama, Grade, and Minnie, B — M. L. L., 1 — Philip Ehni, 2 — Helen Rogers, 9 — Edward Wilson Wallace, 6— Bob Bright, 5 
— Jo and I, ro — Mary Lester and Harry, 8 — Albert S. Taught, 4 — Daisy Allen, 4 — V. B. and A, H. Jacobs, n — Anna B. Eisen- 
hower, 7 — Charles Travis, 6 — Sadie W. Hubbard, 4 — Katharine and Henry Parmly, 2 — Edward C. Tatnall, 1 — " Hill Top Farm," 11 — 
" Embla," 9 — Anna M. Davenport, 3 — Margaret A. H., 1 — Marian G. Dowling and Mattie N. Ward, 2 — Two Little Brothers, 10 — 
" Yale," 5 — Norman and Mama, 6 — Laura M. Zinser, 5 — Bernard Breeden, 3 — " Arbutus," n — Karl G. Smith, 2 — Mary Rake, 1 — No 
Name, Back Bay, S — Mabel Snow and Dorothy Swinburne, n — "The Butterflies," 7 — M. R. K., 2 — Sybil Palgrave, 2 — Alfred 
Sauter, 1. 

OCTAGON. The common European cuttlefish. 10. A piece of music 

1. An ancient engine of war. 2. Extremely violent. of a mournful character. 11^. To take to graze^or pas- 

3. To continue in a place. 4. A midshipman. 5. The ture > at a certain sum. 

governor of Algiers. " samuel Sydney." brown. 14. A letter. 

12. To attempt. 13. To make 



1. A letter. 2. The goddess of revenge. 3. A nar- 
rative. 4. A mistake. 5* ^ n India, a measure 'of dis- 
tance, of about five miles. 6. Scraped together. 7. A 
beverage named after its first maker. 8. Deceived. 9. 


I. I, In* nosegay. 2. To carry. 3. A witch. 4. An 
abridged account. 5. A very large man. 6. Skill. 7. 
In nosegay. 

II. 1. In knife. 2. To free from. 3. Ran swiftly. 
4. An invented story. 5* To consider worth notice. 
6. To put on. 7. In knife. F. o. R. 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When these are rightly guessed, and placed 
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, 
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell the 
name given to one of the European powers. 

Cross-words : 1. Part ofan organ. 2. To subscribe. 

3. A plant extensively cultivated in warm countries. 

4. Eight quarts. 5. An indefinite quantity. 6. A por- 
tion. 7. A number. 8. A measure of length. 9. A fissure. 
10. Unyielding courage. 11. To repeat in sound. 12. To 
cause to rise. 13,. To catch sight of. 14. A measure 
of length. 15. To be overbusy about trifles. 16. A 
conspiracy. George B. fernald. 




The central picture in the above illustration may be 
described by a word of five letters. From these five 
letters thirteen words may be formed, to describe the 
thirteen small pictures. 


My first is to repair, or make as good as new; 
My seeond is a letter dear to each of us. 
My third is what you know all hypocrites will do ; 
My whole is one of those who oft beseech of us. 
■ And should you give old clothes to the poor soul, 
Add buttons, thread, and needles to your dole, 
Or else my whole can say to you my whole. 


Fill each of the seventeen blanks with the name of 
a tree. 

Last summer we had a pleasant trip to the . My 

sister, who deserves the for early rising, as she is 

always up at five, called the rest of us. 

After making ourselves look as as possible, we 

started. It was cool enough for capes, but we did 

not for the heat we knew would come later. 

Dinner was an important feature of the day. We had 

clam chowder, a ■ of chickens, pie, cake, 

and other good things. An taken occasionally gave 

relish to all. 

Our conversation turned on heroes, and my little 

brother said he admired Old more than any other 

president. We gathered daisies and roses. I never 

thought it possible that a grow so close to salt 


Before starting for home we all signed our names in 

the hotel register. We used a pencil, which we thought 

as good and ink. Driving home, along the shore 

of the , we watched the beautiful sunset. Regardless 

of propriety, most of us were chewing all the way, 

but no one seemed to care a . 

I was the one to settle the driver's exorbitant bill, and 

now my sisters me some money for weeks to come. 



My primals and my finals spell the Christian name 
and surname of a very famous American. 

Cross-words: i. Roughly frank. 2. To penetrate. 
3. A Persian wheel. 4. A famous country of the East. 
5. An exclamation of sorrow. 6. A reward of merit. 
7. The tribe over which Boadicea reigned. 8. A month 
of the Jewish year. c. c. N. 












































































By starting at a certain letter, and following a certain 
regular path, three familiar proverbs may be spelled. 







Vol. XXII. 

JULY, 1895. 

No. 9. 


By Alice Balch Abbot. 

Mrs. Ballard was seated at her sitting- know you said I might go home with Jessie 

room window one afternoon in April. Her Whitney to luncheon, some time. She asked 

work lay unheeded in her lap, for her eyes me to-day, and I went. Jessie's mother is to 

were fixed on the figure of her twelve-year- have a sort of tea-party to-morrow, because it 's 

old daughter, who had just turned the street- the battle of Lexington, and she is to wear a 

corner half a block away. As she watched the dress made of buff and blue, like the Conti- 

regular rise and fall of the red wing in the nental uniforms, and she showed me some dia- 

jaunty sailor hat, and noted the steady swing mond shoe-buckles, and you can't belong unless 

of the short brown skirt, Mrs. Ballard thought your grandfather was in the Revolution ; and 

of a remark made by a neighbor a few days I want to know whether I can be one when I 

before : " It is a perfect pleasure to watch your grow up." Frances paused for breath and an 

Frances walk. She seems to put her whole self 
into every step she takes." 

Then, as the erect little figure turned in at 
the gate, and the mother caught a glimpse of 
the bright, earnest face, she said to herself: 

" That is true of Frances in more than her 

answer to her question. Then, seeing the 
amused look in her mother's face, she said : 

" I know you are thinking you would like me 
to parse what I just said; but please answer 
my question, and then I '11 go back and 
straighten it out." 

" As far as I could understand, you asked 

Three minutes later, there was a rush over if you could be a grandfather when you grew 


the stairs, and the daughter danced into the 
room, saying, " Oh, mother, I have had such an 
interesting afternoon! " 

Mrs. Ballard looked up with a smile of 
welcome ; but no words were necessary, for, 
with a whirl of skirts, Frances had seated 
herself on the stool at her mother's side, and 
after a moment's pause for breath had begun 
the story of the "interesting afternoon." "You 

Copyright, 1895, by The Centl'ky Co 

" Now, mother, of course I meant a ' Daugh- 
ter of the Revolution.' That 's what Mrs. 
Whitney is, and the society is to meet there 
to-morrow : but I want to know if any of my 
grandfathers fought in the Revolution. Did 
they ? " 

" Well, really I don't know, dear," was Mrs. 
Ballard's answer. " I have never inquired." 

All rights reserved. 




" Well> have we anything that used to belong 
to our ' great-greats ' ? " 

" Not an heirloom do we possess, to my 
knowledge," was the discouraging reply. 

" I do wish we had," sighed Frances. " Only 
think how proud Jessie must be! They have 
the diamond shoe-buckles that belonged to 
her great-great-grandfather, who was a lieu- 
tenant in the Continental army. When I asked 
where he fought, Mrs. 
Whitney laughed, and 
said that all she knew 
about him was that he 
was said to have had the 
best-dressed hair in his 
regiment. Was n't that 
funny ? I do hope, if 
we are descended from 
anybody, he will turn 
out to be a captain or a 
general that did some- 
thing like — well — like 
Anthony Wayne at Stony 
Point ; but I can't help 
wishing that he left some- 
thing like shoe-buckles : 
Mrs. Whitney's slippers 
did look so pretty ! " 

Mrs. Ballard smiled. 

" I am afraid there is 
very little hope for the 
buckles, even if we can 
discover the grandfather. 
We must ask your father 
to-night. Perhaps he is 
better acquainted with 
his ancestors than I seem 
to be." 

That evening, dinner 
being comfortably under 
way, Frances was wait- 
ing eagerly for the ques- 
tion that must be asked 
and answered before she 
could hope for the desired information. 

When, at length, her father said, " How did 
the lessons go off to-day ? " her answer came 
like a flash : 

" Pretty well ; that Partial Payments example 
was all right, and I declined bonus without a 

mistake. History was n't so good, because I 
forgot which of those miserable French and In- 
dian wars was ended by the treaty of Ryswick ; 
but I know now, it was King William's. That 's 
all, I think. And now, please, may I ask you 
a question ? " 

"You may, Miss Ballard; but, after the va- 
ried learning displayed in your last remark, I 
tremble for my reputation." 



" It 's only this — did you have any grand- 
father in the Revolutionary War ? " 

Mr. Ballard looked thoughtful for a moment, 
then shook his head, saying : " I really cannot 
tell. Is there any reason why such a posses- 
sion should be especially desired ? " 

i8 9 5.] 



" I wanted to know if I could be a Daugh- 
ter of the Revolution some day," answered 
Frances, with a look of disappointment. 

" Ah ! I see," said her father ; " and you 
want to have a part in all these buff-and-blue 
luncheons and tea-drinkings on battle-grounds. 
Well, there is no great hurry. Perhaps by the 
time he is needed we shall have invented the 
necessary grandfather." 

" But I don't want to invent him ; I want 
him to really be, and I want to know about 
him now. It is n't just because of the society, 
but I think it would make me feel better to 
have him. Is n't there any one we could ask? " 
And Frances waited eagerly for an answer to 
her question. 

After a moment's thought Mr. Ballard said, 
more hopefully : 

" I declare, I believe Seth Hunter might know. 
When I visited there as a boy, I recollect that 
our games were always of a decidedly Revo- 
lutionary character." 

Frances became interested at once. " Who 
is he, father ? " she asked. 

" A cousin of mine and yours." 

" Were his grandfathers the same as ours ? " 

" Some of them, probably; for his mother and 
mine were sisters." 

" Will you write to him to-morrow ? " 

Mr. Ballard looked amused. " Don't you 
think, as you are the one desiring the informa- 
tion, that you had better do the writing ? " 

" But I have never seen him," said Frances, 
in dismay; " and he 's a grown-up man, and 
perhaps he does n't like girls. Is he married ? " 

" Not that I know of; he and his sister Eliza 
live together in the old Hunter house, in one 
of the towns near Boston." 

Mr. Ballard wrote a few words on a card, 
and then handed it to his daughter, saying : 

" There is the address. Write as soon as you 
like, and give them my best regards." 

Frances sighed. " Well, I suppose I shall 
have to do it, for I really think I cannot get 
along without knowing about my ancestors." 

The next afternoon the following letter was 
produced for Mrs. Ballard's approval : 

Dear Cousin Seth Hunter : I am the daughter 
of your Cousin Henry Ballard, and I want to ask vou if 
you know whether any grandfather of yours and mine 

fought in the Revolutionary War. I hope he did. Father 
thought that perhaps you would know. He does n't. 
If it would n't be too much trouble, I should like an 
answer soon. Father sends his best regards, and I do 
too. Good-by. 

Your sincere cousin, 

Frances Stanton Ballard. 

The mother handed it back. " Yes, I think 
it will do very well; but don't expect an 
answer too soon." 

" I '11 try to think it won't come for two 
weeks ; then if it does, I shall be surprised." 

And Frances was surprised, for two days later, 
when she came down to the breakfast-table, the 
answer to her letter was lying by her plate. 

Dear Cousin Frances : I was very glad to receive 
your letter this morning, and I hasten to reply. Your 
great-great-grandfather Middleton fought at Bunker 
Hill and remained with the Continental army through- 
out the war. If you ever come this way I shall be 
pleased to show you something that belonged to him, 
that is now in my possession. Kindly remember me to 
your father. It is many years since I have seen him. 
Cousin Eliza and I are all that are now left in the old 
home. We wish we could know our cousins better, for 
we are growing old. It would give us both great plea- 
sure to welcome you to our home. Hoping that I have 
given you the desired information, I remain, 
Your ob'd't cousin, 

Seth Hunter. 

Frances looked up from the letter, with shin- 
ing eyes. " What a very nice man ! Can't we 
go and visit him, father ? " 

" To whom do you refer ? — the grandfather 
you wanted ? " 

" No, indeed ; — Cousin Seth; but the grand- 
father is all right, and he fought at Bunker Hill. 
Cousin Seth has something that belonged to 
him. Mother, — do you suppose it could be 
shoe-buckles ? " 

" I am afraid not," was Mrs. Ballard's answer. 

" Well ! perhaps it is a sword. I don't know 
but that I would rather have it a sword, and 
perhaps it will have jewels on the hilt. Do 
you think it will, father ? " 

" I think my little girl's imagination is run- 
ning away with her," said Mr. Ballard. " In 
fact, I very much doubt if grandfather was 
more than a private. But the fact of his being 
in the army is all you will need for your mem- 

" I believe I had almost forgotten the so- 




ciety," exclaimed Frances ; " but I am glad I 
can be a ' Daughter ' some day." 

Mrs. Ballard had finished reading Frances's 
letter, and handed it to her husband, saying: 

" Did n't you tell me that you would be 
obliged to go on to Boston in June ? " 

" So I expect, as affairs are at present." 

" Could n't you stop at Southville, and see 
these cousins ? " 

" And take me too ? " broke in Frances. 

"Take you — you mother-lover? Why, I 
should be away four or five days. How would 
you stand that ? " 

But even that prospect did not daunt his 

When June came Frances carried her point, 
went with her father, made the acquaintance 
of her cousins, and returned from her trip 
bubbling over with delightful experiences to 
relate to her mother. 

" I did have such a beautiful time ! Cousin 
Seth and Cousin Eliza were so good to me. 
They live in a great square white house, and I 
slept in a high-post bedstead with curtains. 
But I won't tell those things now, because I 
want to begin right off about Grandfather Mid- 
dleton and his possession. I wish I could tell 
about it the way I feel. It 's a Bible; just a 
plain brown leather one, mother, but he carried 
it with him in the battle of Bunker Hill and all 
through the war. The number of his gun is in- 
side the back cover, and on the blank page be- 
tween the Testaments are some words he wrote 
right after the fight — I copied them." And 
Frances took a folded paper from her pocket, 
then read slowly : 

"'Cambridge, June 17, 1775 — I desire to 
bless God for His kind appearance in deliver- 
ing me and sparing my life in the late battle 
fought on Bunker's Hill, and I desire to devote 
this spared life to his glory and honor. As 
witness my hand, Francis Middleton.' 

" Only think, mother ! his first name was like 
mine. I am so glad. I do wish you could 
see the Bible yourself; then perhaps you would 
know how I felt when I held it in my hands. 
It just seemed as if I must do something be- 
sides look at it, and it made me think what a 
dreadful solemn time it was to live. I asked 

Cousin Seth if grandfather was a minister after 
the war; and he said no, that he just settled 
down and was a brave, honest citizen, as he 
had been a brave, honest soldier; for he was 
only a private, mother, and there was n't any 
sword or buckles. I was a little sorry at first, 
but I am not any more ; and somehow, now I 
know that I had such a grandfather, I wish 
I could do something to deserve him. I told 
Cousin Seth about the ' Daughters of the Rev- 
olution,' and he said he guessed we could n't 
know much of what the real daughters had to 
bear — that it cost something to be an Ameri- 
can woman in those days as well as an 
American man, and that it took grit to de- 
serve such a title. I told him I would try to 
be patriotic if I was a boy, but girls never had 
any chance except in stories, where they find 
out enemy's plots, and ride all night to warn 
soldiers that are in danger. Cousin Seth was 
so nice ! he never laughed at all, but said I 
could be a brave, honest citizen just as well 
as a boy. Was n't it funny I could talk to 
him about such things? — for I was a little 
afraid of him at first, because he is very tall and 
grand-looking, and his hair is grayer than fa- 
ther's, and his lips shut very tight; but he and 
Cousin Eliza like little girls, and some day I 
want to make them a long visit." Frances 
paused; then, drawing along breath, she asked, 
"Do you suppose I shall ever have a chance 
to do something that would make me deserve 
to be called a Daughter of the Revolution ? '"' 

Three years later, that question was answered. 

It was just after Frances's fifteenth birthday 
that those black clouds called business troubles, 
which for many anxious days had been hover- 
ing above the Ballard home, at length lifted, and 
passed over; but the household sky, from which 
they had passed, was only gray, not clear blue. 

" No, dear, there is no danger, now, of a 
failure; but father thinks that he will be obliged 
to go to England for two years, to take charge 
of the interests there," was the answer given by 
Mrs. Ballard to an inquiry of her daughter's 
concerning that important subject, " father's 

"Go to England!" was Frances's amazed 
exclamation. Then the questions followed thick 

l8 9 S-] 



and fast, till at length came the one the mother year, but thought we would not be willing to 

had been dreading. send you so far away; but now, as we are to be 

" If we go abroad, what am I to do about in England, you could spend your vacations 

going to school ? " with us, and that could not be if we should 

Mrs. Ballard paused before answering, and leave you at school in this country." 

Frances remarked : " But, mother," gasped Frances, " you and 

" If I had known this, I should n't have felt so father have n't decided yet ? " 


badly when father told me he could n't afford to 
let me go away to boarding-school next year." 

" How would you like to try that arrange- 
ment in Paris ? " 

" Mother ! " was all Frances said, with a quick 
glance to ascertain whether Mrs. Ballard was 
in earnest. 

" I really mean it, dear. We had a letter 
from Aunt Addie yesterday ; she is very anxious 
that we should let her send you to the school, 
in Paris, that she attended when she was your 
age. It seems she wished to propose it last 

" No, indeed. Father thinks you are old 
enough to have a voice in the matter yourself. 
I believe he intends showing you Aunt Addie's 
letter this evening. And now, I am afraid 
that the rest of the questions must be put off; 
for I promised Mrs. Lake that I would call 
this afternoon." 

Frances waited, in silence, till her mother was 
about leaving the room, then said suddenly : 

"When the Bradleys sent Nora to France, did 
n't father say he thought American schools ought 
to be good enough for American children ? " 




Mrs. Ballard looked perplexed as she an- 
swered slowly : 

" I know he was surprised at their doing it; 
but I cannot remember what he said"; then, 
seeing the serious look on her daughter's face, 
the mother bent and kissed her, saying : " Don't 
worry more than you can help, little daughter. 
It is going to be hard for us, I know, but you 
and I must therefore do all we can to help your 

That night Mr. Ballard did not return from 
business till after his daughter's regular bed- 

As he came into the library, his wife said : 

" I have told Frances that we are to go to 
England, and also of Addie's plan ; but I fear it 
is too late to discuss it to-night." 

Mr. Ballard seated himself in his arm-chair, 
then, drawing his daughter down on his knee, 
asked, with a keen glance into the face near 
his own : 

" And what does Frances think of the great 
European question ? " 

" Will you let me wait three days, before I 
tell you and mother what I think ? " was the 
answer that surprised her father. 

" Putting off hard things makes them no 
easier to decide," he remarked ; then, seeing the 
earnest look in his daughter's gray eyes, he 
took an envelop from his pocket, saying, " Here 
is Aunt Addie's letter for you to read, Frances ; 
and suppose we say that the case will be called 
on Saturday evening. Will that suit ? " 

"Beautifully!" answered Frances. "Now, I 
want to ask one question before I go to bed. 
Did n't you say that you wanted me to go to 
college, some day ? " 

Mr. Ballard looked serious. " I did hope for 
it once ; but there can be no looking ahead 

" But if your business should be all right, 
and I should be prepared, when I am seven- 
teen, you would like me to go ? " 

" I certainly should ; but those are very large 
' ifs.' " 

" That 's all," said Frances, with a nod of 
her curly head ; then said her good-nights and 
left the room. 

Mr. Ballard waited till she was out of hear- 
ing, then asked his wife : 

" What schemes are under way in that small 
head ? " 

" None, that I know of." 

" I declare, I wish there need be no ques- 
tion of school, at all; but she is such a bright 
little student, and these next two years are such 
important ones, that I feel we must give her 
every advantage. But if I thought a foreign 
school would affect her as it did Nora Bradley! 
— " and Mr. Ballard paused, with such a frown 
that his wife hastened to say : 

" Frances is n't Nora, by any means; and a 
French school turned out Addie Stanton; and 
you have always admired her." 

" And I do still. She is one of the most bril- 
liant women I have ever met ; but I should not 
care to have my daughter resemble even her, 
in every respect." 

Meanwhile the daughter in question was 
seated in her room, with Aunt Addie's let- 
ter before her. The writer was not her own 
aunt ; but having been the most intimate friend 
of Mrs. Ballard's girlhood, she had always 
claimed Frances as a niece, by right of the love 
she bore the girl's mother, and for the " Stanton " 
in the daughter's name. Frances had often 
wondered whether any real relative could have 
been kinder than this fascinating " aunt by cour- 
tesy." Beginning with the beautiful silver baby- 
service, the list of her gifts had grown with the 
years. The pretty silver buckle that clasped 
Frances's belt, and the dainty chatelaine that 
hung at her waist, were both from the same 
generous hand. Her glove and handkerchief 
boxes were the envy of all her friends, who 
used to sigh for an aunt who was constantly 
going to Paris. 

"Just like Aunt Addie!." was Frances's ver- 
dict, as she read the generous offer, made in 
such a delicate way that the writer seemed 
asking a favor, not conferring one. There was 
one especial message to the girl herself: "Tell 
Frances that I shall be in Paris next winter, 
and have already planned such shopping and 
sight-seeing as she could never dream." To 
see Paris with such a guide as fascinating Aunt 
Addie was certainly an alluring prospect ; but 
there was another side to the question. Fran- 
ces put the letter back into its envelope; then, 
clasping both hands around her knee, proceeded 

i8 9 5-; 



to think her hardest, for a quarter of an hour. 
The result of that fifteen minutes' cogitation 
was a letter written before breakfast, the next 
morning, and sent by the early mail. 

Saturday evening, after dinner, Mr. Ballard 
remarked : 

" The great Ballard Educational Case will now 
be called. The jury, being mother, will occupy 
the sofa ; the judge, being myself, will take this 
arm-chair; and, let me see, which are you, 
Frances, plaintiff or defendant ? " 

" Defendant," answered his daughter, with a 
flash of her eyes. 

"Ah! — and the plaintiff?" questioned Mr. 

" Aunt Addie's plan," was the quick reply. 

" Very well," said Mr. Ballard. " The de- 
fendant may take her position on this chair 
between the judge and jury, and we will 
proceed, at once, to the arguments for the 

There was a moment's silence; then Frances 

" Now, please, we won't joke any more; 
and I am afraid there are n't any arguments 
at all; but before I say anything about Aunt 
Addie's plan, I want you to read this letter 
from Cousin Seth, that came this morning. 
I wrote to him and Cousin Eliza, two days 
ago, asking, if you should decide to leave me 
in this country, whether they would like to 
have me come and stay with them and go 
to the high school there." 

The father and mother were too surprised 
to speak, for a moment ; then Mrs. Ballard 
took the letter from Frances's hand, while her 
husband said : 

" So that was the reason for the three ' days 
of grace.' What put the notion into your 
head, daughter?" 

" Do you remember when we were there, 
three years ago, Cousin Seth saying that when 
you and mother were tired of your daughter, 
they would be glad to adopt me ? " 

" So he did ; and you took him at his 
word ? " asked Mr. Ballard, with a look of 

" Of course I did. They are n't the kind of 
people who say a thing unless they mean it," 
answered Frances, in a tone of conviction. 
Vol. XXII.— 90. 

Just then Mrs. Ballard looked up from the 
letter, saying: 

" But even if we should consent, I thought 
you said you could never go to a public 

" And I say now, mother, that I guess it 
would n't be any harder for me than for lots 
of other girls." 

" That high school in Southville is one of 
the finest in New England," remarked Mr. 
Ballard. But the mother's thoughts were not 
of the excellence of the school — "Two whole 
years, Frances! — how could we bear it ? " 

The girl's lips quivered — " Please don't think 
about that now, mother, or I shall just begin 
to cry." 

Meanwhile, the father had finished reading 
his cousin's letter, and, looking up, he said : 

" No one could ask for anything more cor- 
dial than that. The plan is 
worthy of consider- 
ation ; but now 
ii I should like 


to hear what this wise young schemer has to 
say on the Paris question." 

Frances clasped her hands tightly in her lap, 
drew one long breath, then looked straight into 
her father's eyes, saying : 

" Just this : that unless you and mother think 
it would be the best thing for me, I do not 



see how I could possibly do it. One reason is 
that if I study in French, I shall have to go 
back to all sorts of first things, and in two 
years I will not be ready for college, even if 
you can afford to send me; but that is n't the 
principal reason," and the girl stopped ; then, 
with eyes fixed on her folded hands, and cheeks 
pink with earnestness, she said, in a voice 
that trembled in spite of her efforts to hold it 
steady : 

" I don't know that I can make you under- 
stand; but I cannot bear to think of studying 
a geography that has a big map of France 
in the first place, after the hemispheres, and 
to always talk about ' Etats-Unis,' instead of 
' United States,' and to study with girls who 
think Brazil is right next New York, and who 
ask if we are n't afraid of the Indians. That 
was what Nora said they asked her; and she 
had to study French history, as if it were the 
most important kind. When I asked if it did 
not make her provoked, she laughed and said 
one became used to it. I don't see how I ever 
could, though I suppose I might, for Paris is 
lovely ; and when I asked Aunt Addie if she 
liked France better than America, she said she 
would n't want to choose, but she really had 
to go over there, at least once in two years, to 
breathe. Then, when I told her that George 
Washington was my hero, she laughed and 
said that he used to be hers, but Napoleon 
was much more exciting. It is n't that I don't 
want to go abroad, for I do want to, very 
much; and some day I hope I shall travel all 
around, and I should feel just the same if it 
were any other country than France ; but some- 
how it seems to me that going to school in a 
country would make me belong there, just as 
if, while I was doing it, I had to stop being an 
American altogether." With a catch in her 
breath, the girl's voice ceased. 

The clock ticked loudly in the silent room, 
till Mr. Ballard, laying a caressing hand on 
the pretty bowed head, said, in the tones his 
daughter loved best: 

" What a dear patriotic little woman it is ! " 

Then, as Frances looked up and he saw a misty 
gleam in her bright eyes, he said, comically : 

" So the case has become one of interna- 
tional interest. As such questions deserve 

serious consideration, I move that this court of 
arbitration be adjourned till further notice." 

His daughter looked troubled. 

" But, father, Aunt Addie comes next week, 
and you know how she can ' put things.' " 

" I do, Miss Ballard, and I also know that 
some one else seems to possess that gift; and I 
think we may regard the American cause as 
ably defended. What do you say, mother ? " 

" I say that I think it is time for the de- 
fendant to go to bed"; then, drawing Frances 
to her side, the mother asked, gently : 

" You really think you would be happier go- 
ing to school in Southville than in Paris ? " 

" Yes, mother, I really do ; but you and 
father won't think it will be easy for me to be 
away from you, will you ? " 

" My dear, I know my daughter too well for 
such thoughts, but," and the mother tenderly 
kissed the soft red lips, " after this evening, I 
think I shall know her better than ever before." 

The school question was settled finally in 
accordance with Frances's plan. 

The following week Miss Stanton came. 
Her niece almost dreaded seeing her; but there 
was no need to fear, for her aunt only said, as 
she kissed the girl on both cheeks, in her 
pretty French fashion : 

" So I am to wait until this loyal little citizen 
is fully armed with an American education, 
before I am allowed to show her the delights 
of my beloved Paris. Well, ma cherie, Europe 
will keep, and Aunt Addie thinks none the less 
of you ; though she is not at all convinced," 
and her black eyes sparkled with mischief, "that 
it is not all your grand revenge for the slight 
she paid your beloved George Washington." 

If you ask what Mr. Seth Hunter thought of 
his little cousin's decision, the answer to that 
question is written on a folded paper, locked 
carefully away in one of the brass-knobbed 
drawers of the old secretary in the Southville 

To my beloved cousin, Frances Stanton Ballard, I 
bequeath the Bible of my great-grandfather, Frances 
Middleton, which was bequeathed to me by my uncle 
Ezra Wood, who directed that I should dispose of said 
Bible to a direct descendant of its original owner, and 
that such descendant should be one whom I should 
deem worthy to possess so precious a treasure. 

As witness my hand, Seth Hunter. 







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By Hayden Carruth. 

A girl there was — I knew her well — 

Who bore the simple name of Alice ; 
But where she lived 't was hard to tell- 

Now in a wood, now in a palace; 
The reason for which curious way 

Was her extraordinary habit, 
When interrupted at her play, 

Of following a whisking rabbit. 

Or through the looking-glass she 'd pop 

On days she did n't go with Bunny ; 
So her adventures would n't stop — 

She 'd find a country just as funny. 
I never knew another child 

To meet with persons so surprising : 
Such animals, so tame and mild ; 

Such food and drink, so appetizing ! 

She 'd eat a thing, and up she 'd grow 

Much higher than the highest steeple; 
Another bite, and down she 'd go 

As short as Lilliputian people ! 
And she could swim, and she could fly, 

And read the Jabberwocky writing ; 
In fact it is no use to try 

To meet with things half so exciting. 

But it was several years ago 

I met this rarest of creations; 
And here 's what I should like to know : 

Does she keep up her explorations ? 
And does she meet the Cheshire Cat, 

And find the Queen of Hearts a-roaring ? 
Is Humpty Dumpty just as fat, 

And is the Dormouse still a-snoring ? 

And is the March Hare just as mad, 

And is it tea-time with the Hatter ? 
Is the Mock Turtle just as sad ; 

Does Father William clear the platter? 
And does she chase a Bandersnatch, 

And lug about the tame Flamingo ? 
Do T. and T. fight out their match, 

And does she hear the Gryphon's lingo ? 

The Aged Aged Man forlorn; 

The Caterpillar with his notions ; 
The Dodo, Lion, Unicorn, 

And those with Anglo-Saxon motions, — 
Of these I 'd know, of every one, 

And if they keep their curious habits. 
In short, if Alice still doth run 

Away with wild and whisking rabbits. 


By Charles B. Going. 

A warmth of gold, all summer stored, 

The goldenrod gives up ; 
And filled from springtime's scantier hoard 

Shines the sweet buttercup; 
And from the singing of the breeze 

And low, sweet sound of rain, 
The little brook learns melodies 

To sing them back again. 

Forgotten all the cloudy sky 

Of dark days overcast ; 
For flower-hearts let gloom go by, 

But hold the sunshine fast. 
And, all year long, the little burn, 

Though wintry boughs be wet, 
Picks out the happy days to learn - 

The sad ones to forget. 



By James Baldwin. 

Among the horses which one would like to 
own, I fancy that the steed which Oliver Gold- 
smith once refused to accept would be consid- 
ered a treasure. The story that is connected with 
it is a true one, and for that reason is as worthy 
of being repeated as any tale of knighthood. 

Poor " Goldy," as he was fondly nicknamed 
later in life, did not look much like a knight. 
Short of stature, with a homely face deeply 
scarred by the smallpox, awkward in his man- 
ners and movements, he would have made but 
a sorry figure in the lordly tournament or at 
a royal banquet. And yet he had within him 
not a little of the knightly spirit. Generous to 
a fault, daring even to foolhardiness, tender- 
hearted, impulsive — he was just the kind of 
man to ride through the world, seeking adven- 
tures, and risking his life in defense of the help- 
less and innocent. Had he lived in the days of 
chivalry, he would doubtless have been, in spite 
of his ugliness and ungainliness, a famous knight 

It is possible that when he rode into the 
Irish seaport of Cork, one fine morning nearly 
a hundred and fifty years ago, he had some 
very knightly thoughts in his mind. He was 
mounted on a handsome steed; he was clad, 
if not in armor, in the gayest suit of clothes 
that his tailor could be persuaded to make 
for him ; he had thirty pounds of his own 
earnings in his pocket ; and he was bound for 
America, a country in which there was still 
plenty of room for knightly prowess. His 
mother and his friends, whom he had left be- 
hind in the poor little village of Lissoy, knew 
nothing of his whereabouts. He was not at 
all disturbed by the fact that he had sadly dis- 
appointed all their hopes ; for would they not 
hear of his success in the New World, and be 
proud of him ? 

Oliver had but lately completed a rather wild 
and irregular course of study in college, and his 

kinsfolk had insisted that he should become a 
country parson, as his poor father had been be- 
fore him. He felt his unfitness for such a calling, 
but he cared less for that than for some of the 
irksome restraints that it would impose. For 
instance, he could not bear the thought of being 
obliged to wear a long wig when he preferred 
a short one, or of being always dressed in a 
black coat when one of bright colors suited his 
fancy so much better. He had frankly told 
his relatives that he preferred pretty clothes to 
the hard lot of a poor parson; and yet, as 
neither he nor they could think of any other 
business for which he was better fitted, he at 
last consented to apply for holy orders. But 
when the time came for him to go to the 
Bishop of Elphin to be ordained, he could not 
resist the temptation to wear a pair of beau- 
tiful scarlet breeches with long hose and the 
brightest buckles. For would he not become 
a parson to-morrow, and be forever afterward 
condemned to sober black ? The good bishop 
was horrified at such levity, and refused to or- 
dain him. Perhaps upon examination he found 
that the young man was entirely ignorant of 
the catechism. This failure of Oliver's had 
been much less of a disappointment to him than 
to his friends. But as he was now twenty- 
three years old, and his mother was very poor, 
it was highly necessary that he should find 
something to do. And so he had found em- 
ployment as a private tutor in a wealthy family 
near Lissoy. From his pupils' point of view, 
he was, no doubt, an accomplished and suc- 
cessful teacher. He was only a great boy him- 
self, and life would have been one long holiday 
to everybody if he could have had his own way. 
But his way did not please his employer, and 
finally, after a quarrel for which Oliver was 
doubtless to blame, he was dismissed. The 
money which he had earned at tutoring, how- 
ever, was sufficient to equip him as a knight 





errant, for it enabled him to buy the horse and 
the splendid new suit of clothes with which, as 
I have said, he rode one fine morning into the 
city of Cork. 

To his great satisfaction he found a ship 
already in port waiting only for favorable winds 
to sail for America. He lost no time, therefore, 
in selling his horse and in making a bargain 
with the captain for his passage to the New 
World. Then he sallied out to see the town. 
He had no difficulty in making friends ; for 
he had money in his pocket, and he proceeded 
to share it with all the beggars and street loaf- 
ers that he met. He was ready to relieve 
every case of distress that came to his notice, 
and many were the boon fellows whom he 
helped to entertain at the tavern. Several days 
were passed in this way, and the thirty pounds 
in his pocket had dwindled to but little more 
than thirty shillings; and still the ship, upon one 
pretext or another, delayed its sailing. One 
fine night, however, while Oliver was in the 
country enjoying himself with some newly 
made acquaintances, a favorable wind sprang 
up, and the captain, entirely neglectful of his 
passenger, ordered the vessel to be cast loose 
from her moorings and the sails to be set for 
the voyage. And in the morning, when Oliver 
sauntered leisurely down to the wharf, he found 
that he had been left behind. 

It was lucky for the world that it happened 
so. For had Oliver been carried to America, 
our literature might never have known that most 
charming of stories, " The Vicar of Wakefield," 
nor those rare, delightful poems, " The Traveller" 
and "The Deserted Village" — works which will 
keep green the name and fame of Oliver Gold- 
smith as long as the English language endures. 

Oliver was one of those happy beings to 
whom all disappointments are light, and he did 
not greatly mind being left behind. Finding 
himself at last with but two guineas in his 
pocket, he began to bethink him of how he 
was to return to his good mother at Lissoy. 
To make so long a journey on foot was out of 
the question, and so after some bargaining he 
bought a wretched little pony — ill fed and 
very lean — whom he named " Fiddleback " ; 
finding thereafter that he had just five shillings 
left. This, as he afterward told his mother, 

was but a scanty allowance for man and steed 
for a journey of above a hundred miles ; but 
he counted on finding plenty of friends along 
the road. As he ambled out of Cork, mounted 
on poor Fiddleback, his fine suit of clothes 
a good deal the worse for the three weeks of 
careless living which they had seen, he would 
hardly have been recognized as the gay young 
fellow who had entered the city so proudly only 
a short time before. But he was none the less 
happy ; for the sun shone as brightly as ever, 
and Fiddleback was really a much better nag 
than one might have supposed. 

When but a few miles out from the city, 
Oliver was hailed by a poor woman at the 
roadside, who besought him for the love of 
God to give her alms. She said that her hus- 
band had been imprisoned for debt, and that 
her eight children were starving, and that 
the landlord was even then on his way to turn 
them out of doors. The young man could 
never listen to a tale of distress without being 
touched with pity, and he hastily drew his 
money from his pocket, and emptied the half 
of it into the woman's hand. He had hardly 
gone a hundred yards, however, when he be- 
gan to feel sorry that he had not given her 
all of it ; for he remembered that the home 
of one of his college friends was only five or 
six miles away and he felt sure that when he 
arrived there, all his wants would be supplied 
and his purse replenished. 

But — alas for those who put their trust in 
human kindness ! — Oliver's quondam friend 
gave him but a sorry welcome. Scarcely a 
mouthful of food did he offer him, and when 
Oliver told him of the straits into which he was 
fallen, he gave him but little sympathy. 

" Let me see," said he. " You are now, as 
you say, nearly a hundred miles from home, 
and you have only half a crown in your pocket. 
That sorry nag which you have ridden from 
Cork can barely make the journey in five days, 
even if his bones should hold together so long ; 
and in the mean while you must have food 
and lodging, which cannot be obtained for less 
than double your money. Let me tell you 
what to do. Sell this Fiddleback, as you call 
him, — I have a friend who will pay a guinea 
for him, — then accept from me the present of 

IV ) r \l <•!•/"•'- 


Vol. XXII.— 91. 




a fine steed that will carry you home, not only 
in safety, but with really no expense." 

Oliver asked to see the steed that was thus 
offered. His friend led him into his bed-room, 
and pulled out from beneath the bed a stout 
oak walking-stick, gnarled and knotty, which 
looked as if it had seen some little service. 

; ' Here is the horse for you," said he. "Take 
him, and he will bear you to your mother's 
house without costing you a penny." 

It was not often that Oliver allowed himself 
to become angry ; but as he took the stick 
into his hands he was strongly tempted to try 
its strength on its owner's head. He forbore> 
however, and at last handed back the prof- 
fered gift, telling his friend that he would not 

deprive him of so fine a steed, nor indeed re- 
main in his house another hour. 

A week later Oliver's mother was astonished 
to see him ride into her yard at Lissoy, astride 
of Fiddleback. Both man and steed were for- 
lorn, bedraggled, half starved; but Oliver was 
happier even than he had been at the begin- 
ning of his knight-errantry. 

What finally became of Fiddleback, or of 
that other horse so ungenerously offered and 
so promptly refused, nobody knows. But of 
all the horses that I should like to own there 
is none that would please me more than the 
stout oak stick, the memory of which has been 
preserved by this adventure of the author of 
" The Vicar of Wakefield." 


By Theodore Roosevelt. 

III. — King's Mountain. 

The close of the year 1780 was, in the 
Southern States, the darkest time of our 
Revolutionary struggle. Cornwallis had just 
destroyed the army of Gates at Camden, and 
his two formidable lieutenants, Tarleton the 
light horseman, and Ferguson the skilled ri- 
fleman, had destroyed or scattered all the 
smaller bands who had been fighting for the 
patriot cause. The red dragoons rode hither 
and thither, and all through Georgia and 
South Carolina none dared lift up their heads 
to oppose them; while North Carolina lay at 
the feet of Cornwallis as he started through 
it with his army to march into Virginia. 
There was no organized force against him, 
and the cause of the patriots seemed hope- 
less. It was at this dark hour that the wild 
backwoodsmen of the Western border gath- 
ered to strike a blow for liberty. 

When Cornwallis invaded North Carolina 
he sent Ferguson into the western part of the 
State to crush out any of the patriot forces 
that might still be lingering among the foot- 
hills. Ferguson was a very gallant and able 

officer, and a man of much influence with the 
people wherever he went, so that he was 
peculiarly fitted for this scrambling border 
warfare. He had under him a battalion of 
regular troops and several battalions of Tory 
militia, in all eleven or twelve hundred men. 
He shattered and drove the small bands of 
Whigs that were yet in arms, and finally 
pushed to the foot of the mountain wall, till he 
could see in his front the high ranges of the 
Great Smokies. Here he learned for the first 
time that beyond the mountains there lay a few 
hamlets of frontiersmen whose homes were on 
what were then called the Western Waters — that 
is, the waters which flowed into the Mississippi. 
To these he sent word that if they did not prove 
loyal to the king he would cross the mountains, 
hang their leaders, and burn their villages. 

Beyond the mountains, in the valleys of the 
Holston and the Watauga, dwelt men who 
were stout of heart and mighty in battle ; and 
when they heard the threats of Ferguson their 
hearts burned with a flame of sullen anger. 
Hitherto the foes against whom they had 
warred had been, not the British, but the 
Indian allies of the British — Creek and Chero- 




kee and Shawnee. Now that the army of the 
king had come to their thresholds, they turned 
to meet him as fiercely as they had met his 
Indian allies. Among the backwoodsmen of 
this region there were at that time three men 
of special note : Sevier, who afterward became 
governor of Tennessee; Shelby, who afterward 
became governor of Kentucky ; and Campbell, 
the Virginian, who died in the Revolutionary 

the stump-dotted clearings, and the hunters 
from their smoky cabins in the deep woods. 

The meeting-place was at the Sycamore 
Shoals. On the appointed day the backwoods- 
men gathered, sixteen hundred strong, each 
man carrying a long rifle, and mounted on a 
tough, shaggy horse. They were a grim and 
fierce people, accustomed to the chase and to 
warfare with the Indians. Their hunting-shirts 


War. Sevier had given a great barbecue, 
where oxen and deer were roasted whole, 
horse-races were run, and the backwoodsmen 
tried their skill as marksmen and wrestlers. In 
the midst of the feasting Shelby appeared, hot 
with hard riding, to tell of the approach of 
Ferguson and the British. Immediately the 
feasting was stopped, and the feasters made 
ready for war. Sevier and Shelby sent word 
to Campbell to rouse the men of his district 
and come without delay ; and they sent mes- 
sengers to and fro in their own neighborhood 
to summon the settlers from their log huts on 

of buckskin or homespun were girded in by 
bead-worked belts, and the trappings of their 
horses were stained red and yellow. At the 
gathering there was a black-frocked Presby- 
terian preacher; and before they started he ad- 
dressed the tall riflemen in words of burning 
zeal, urging them to stand stoutly in the battle 
and to smite " with the sword of the Lord and 
of Gideon." Then the army started, the back- 
woods colonels riding in front. 

Two or three days later word was brought to 
Ferguson that the Back-water men had come 
over the mountains; that the Indian-fighters 



of the frontier, leaving unguarded their homes 
on the Western Waters, had crossed by wooded 
and precipitous defiles to the help of the beaten 
men of the plains. Ferguson at once fell back, 
sending out messengers for help. When he 
came to King's Mountain, — a wooded, hog- 
back hill on the border line between North and 
South Carolina, — he camped on its top, deem- 
ing that there he was safe ; for he supposed that 
before the backwoodsmen could come near 
enough to attack him, help would reach him. 
But the backwoods leaders felt as keenly as 
he the need of haste, and choosing out their 
picked men, — the best warriors of the force 
and the best mounted and armed, — they made a 
long forced march to assail Ferguson before help 
could come to him. All nightlong they rode the 
dim forest trails and splashed across the fords of 
the rushing rivers. All the next day — the 6th 
of October — they rode too, until in mid after- 
noon they came in sight of King's Mountain. 

The little armies were about equal in num- 
bers. Ferguson's regulars were armed with 
the bayonet, and so were some of his Tory 
militia, whereas the Americans had not a bayo- 
net among them ; but they were picked men, 
confident in their skill with the rifle, and they 
were so sure of victory that their aim was not 
only to defeat the British, but to capture their 
whole force ! The backwoods colonels, coun- 
seling together as they rode at the head of the 
column, decided to surround the mountain and 
assail it on all sides. Accordingly, the bands 
of frontiersmen split one from the other, and 
soon encircled the craggy hill where Ferguson's 
forces were encamped. They left their horses 
in the rear, and immediately began the battle, 
swarming forward on foot, their commanders 
leading the attack. 

The march had been so quick and the attack 
so sudden that Ferguson barely had time to 
marshal his men before the assault was made. 

Most of his militia he scattered around the top 
of the hill to fire down at the Americans as they 
came up; while, drawing up his regulars and a 
few picked militia, he charged in person, with 
the bayonet, first down one side of the moun- 
tain and then down the other. Sevier, Shelby, 
Campbell, and the other colonels of the fron- 
tiersmen led each his force of riflemen straight 
toward the summit. Each body in turn, when 
charged by the regulars, was forced to give way, 
for they had no bayonets wherewith to meet 
their foes; but the backwoodsmen retreated 
only so long as the charge lasted, and the 
minute that it stopped they stopped too, and 
came back ever closer to the ridge, and ever 
with a deadlier fire. Ferguson, blowing a sil- 
ver whistle as a signal to his men, led these 
charges, sword in hand, on horseback. At 
last, just as he was once again rallying his 
men, the riflemen of Sevier and Shelby crowned 
the top of the ridge. The gallant British com- 
mander became a fair target for the backwoods- 
men ; and, as for the last time he led his men 
against them, seven bullets entered his body, 
and he fell dead. With his fall resistance 
ceased. The regulars and Tories huddled to- 
gether in a confused mass, while the exultant 
Americans rushed forward. A flag of truce 
was hoisted, and all the British who were not 
dead surrendered. 

The victory was complete, and the back- 
woodsmen at once started to return to their 
log hamlets and rough, lonely farms. They 
could not stay, for they dared not leave their 
homes at the mercy of the Indians. They had 
rendered a great service; for Cornwallis, when 
he heard of the disaster to his trusted lieuten- 
ant, abandoned his march northward, and re- 
tired to South Carolina. When he again re- 
sumed the offensive, he found his path barred 
by stubborn General Greene and his troops of 
the Continental line. 


By Francis Churchill Williams. 


" This is hard luck ! " said Tom Wright, 
gloomily. " Day after to-morrow we begin 
training, and Hill 's sick at the last minute." 

There were four young fellows seated in 
Wright's room, all members of the 'Varsity 
crew. As Tom had just said, Hill, who had 
rowed in the No. 7 seat, had been suddenly 
taken with a low fever, and the doctor had 
positively forbidden his rowing. The prospect 
for filling his place was exceedingly poor, and 
Tom Wright, who was stroke-oar and captain 
of the crew, was in despair. 

" Could n't Higgins row in Hill's position ? " 
suggested Dorsey, who pulled No. 4 oar. 

" No ; he is n't up to it," answered Wright. 
" Brooks, here, will tell you that he can't be 
made to last over two miles, and that he 's 
only second-rate at that." Brooks nodded. 
" But I suppose we '11 have to do the best we 
can with him," continued Wright, resignedly. 

Just then the door opened, and Foster, the 
bow-oar, walked in. Foster was in the post- 

graduate department, and when he said any- 
thing it was usually worth hearing. 

" Hill 's sick ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said Brooks, dejectedly. 

"Well," said Foster, in his slow fashion, as 
he seated himself on a table and examined a 
tennis-racket, " I have a man for his place." 

" You have ! " said Wright. " Who is it ? " 

" Fales. He 's a new man in the postgradu- 
ate department, a big fellow, — must weigh fully 
one hundred and eighty-five pounds. He 's 
coaching the sophomores in geometry, and 
he '11 row so long as it won't interfere with that. 
He looks as though he 'd get into condition in 
a couple of weeks, too. He 's rowed before — 
on some Canadian crew, I think he said." 

" That 's something worth hearing ! " said 
Wright. " When '11 he begin ? " 

" Immediately. I told him to be at the boat- 
house at four sharp to-morrow afternoon. He 
can row from four till six o'clock each day." 

" Well, that makes our prospects considerably 




brighter," remarked Brooks, in a delighted voice. 
" I only hope he '11 turn out as good a fellow as 
you describe. And I guess I '11 be going now 
for a dig at that astronomy. Good night, all ! " 

And the crowd separated, Foster remaining 
to have a chat with Wright. 

The crew were in the dressing-room at the 
boat-house the following afternoon when Foster 
came in, followed by an athletic-looking fellow 
with curly hair and a pleasant, though decid- 
edly grave face. Every one felt at once that 
this must be Fales, and seven pairs of eyes 
were turned on him critically. 

" This is Bert Fales," said Foster. 

"Glad to meet you, Fales!" exclaimed the 
stroke-oar, grasping the other's hand, and giving 
a glance of approval at his strong shoulders and 
well-knit frame. " We 're just getting ready for 
a couple of miles' spin, and we 'd like you to try 
No. 7 seat — that is, if you think you 're able 
to, to-day. Of course you can take it easy." 

" All right ; I '11 try it," said Fales, quietly. 
" I won't promise to do any very hard pulling. 
It '11 take me a little while to get my hand in ; 
but I '11 do my best." 

" That 's all we expect," answered Wright, 
briskly. " You '11 find a locker for your clothes 
over there, and you have come ready to row, 
I see." 

In ten minutes more Fales was in boating 
costume, and Wright nodded to Foster as he 
saw the long arms and powerful chest of the 
new man. " He 's a good one," he whispered, 
as the eight men clattered down-stairs and 
ranged themselves along the shell, preparatory 
to carrying her down the slip to the water. 

And Fales created no disappointment in the 
boat. He handled his oar cleverly, and, though 
he did not exert himself, the stroke-oar and 
the coxswain could see by the way the water 
swirled silently from his blade and went rush- 
ing toward the stern that he made every one 
of a well-developed set of muscles do its part 
in his stroke. And there was a grim smile of 
satisfaction on Wright's face as he bent to his 
work and glanced up at the little coxswain. 

When they had come down the river to the 
boat-house again, and the coxswain's " Way 
enough ! " had caused the oar-blades to lie on 
the water, sending little spurts from their edges 

as the shell shot down stream, the stroke-oar 
turned in his seat : 

" Well, how did it go ? " he asked. 

" First-rate ! I tell you it makes a fellow 
feel magnificent to get on the water. I am 
all out of condition, doing nothing but study 
and read; but I think I '11 be with you in a few 
days. Your stroke is a trifle different from 
ours; but I believe it 's a better one." 

" Well, I guess we '11 go in now," said 
Wright, after a moment. " Ready there, Brooks!" 


" Ready ! " repeated the coxswain. " Hold, 
starboard ! Pull easy, port ! " and the long 
" eight " slowly swung around, and, with her 
bow pointed for the slip, moved ahead. 

" Fales ! " called Wright, as the latter was 
leaving the dressing-room afterward. " I 'd 
take a short run each day, I think. You '11 
get into condition quicker, and the regular 
training later on won't be so hard ! " 

" All right ! " sang back the other in a cheery 
way, and he was gone. 

i8 9 5-] 



The training went ahead steadily, and Fales 
gave no reason to regret the absence of Hill. 
Wright and Brooks were delighted with him ; 
and as for Foster, he only smiled in a satisfied 
way which befitted him as the one who had 
secured the new oarsman. The rest of the 
crew took that interest in the No. 7 oar which 
every well-regulated crew takes in a fellow- 
member who does his full duty. But as to any 
feeling of personal friendship for him, it was im- 
possible ; for he was as silent as the proverbial 
oyster, except when questioned, and never re- 
mained after rowing to talk over the small mat- 
ters of college life with the rest. So soon as 
the shell was placed on the racks he was off to 
dress, and immediately afterward left the boat- 
house and went to his room to study, or per- 
haps took a short run. He seemed to be oc- 
cupied with his books or engaged in writing 
during all his leisure hours. 

One evening Wright was sitting in his room, 
trying to master a difficult problem in astron- 
omy, when the door was opened and Brooks 
came in. Wright glanced up, threw him a 
hasty nod of recognition, and then bent his 
head again and went on trying to study. He 
hoped the new-comer would go out soon ; for 
he was intent on the work before him. 

By and by he looked up again, and Brooks 
was still there, with his eyes gazing upon the 
carpet and his forehead all wrinkled as though 
he were greatly puzzled. Evidently he intended 
to stay. 

" What 's the matter ? " asked Wright, laying 
down his book in surprise. " Don't sit there 
frowning, but speak out ! " 

" I don't know how to begin," said Brooks. 

"Don't know how to begin? Begin at the 
beginning ! What 's it all about, anyhow ? " 

" It 's Fales," explained Brooks, slowly. 

" Well, what about him ? He is n't sick, is 

" No; only — oh, well, I guess I 'd better get 
it right out. He 's been writing letters ! " 

" What of that ? " asked Wright, amazedly. 
" He can write them if he wants to, can't he ? " 

" Yes ; but he 's writing them to the coxswain 

of the crew of University ; and — can't you 

think what I mean ? " 

There was a pause ; then Wright jumped to 
his feet. " You mean that he 's giving our se- 
crets away ! " he exclaimed excitedly. " Why, 
we have our race with them in a little while. 
Do you mean that he 's telling them about our 
stroke, the time we 're making, and all that ? 
I can't believe it ! " 

" All I know is that he 's writing constantly 
to the coxswain of their crew — " 

" And that 's the only thing he 'd be likely 
to be writing about so frequently, " finished 
Wright for him. " He 's a spy, that 's what he 
is ! We don't know anything about him, except 
that he can pull a good oar, and he never has 
a word to say for himself. I '11 make him 
leave the crew to-day; and I '11 — " 

" No, you won't, Tom ! " broke in Brooks. 
" We have n't got any real proof against him, 
only the address on the letters which I have 
chanced to see at different times. Besides, if 
we put him out of the crew now, who '11 we get 
to row in his place ? We have n't one fellow 
who could pull anything like as well as he 
does. All we can do is to wait, and keep an 
eye on him. And I have an idea, anyhow, 
that he '11 forget all about what he 's here for, — 
if he is a spy, — and '11 do his best for us. He 
is immensely fond of rowing — I can see that 
— and gets very earnest over his work in the 
boat. But don't let the rest of the fellows 
know anything about this ! It would only make 
him an object of suspicion to them, and he 'd 
notice it, and probably would leave us just at 
the last minute. Then we should be in a fix 
indeed. No; the best we can do is to keep 
quiet and watch him carefully." 

For a few minutes Wright did not reply. 
Then he looked up. " I guess you 're right," 
he said slowly; "there 's nothing else to be 

" Well, good night, old fellow ! " said Brooks, 
as cheerfully as he could. " All will come out 
right yet " ; and the door slammed upon him. 

In spite of Brooks's admonition, Wright's 
manner toward Fales was somewhat cooler 
when he met him next day, and there was just 
the least suspicion of formality also in the 
greeting.of Brooks and of Foster, who had been 
let into the secret, and who would n't hear of 
the accusation at first. But the rest, if they 




noticed it, gave it no further thought. Fales 
felt the change, however; but, though it hurt 
him keenly, he gave no sign of it. If anything, 
his manner became more reserved and silent 
than ever, and the three immediately saw in 
this a guilty conscience, and felt confirmed in 
their suspicions. 

About two weeks before the race the crew, 
with the substitutes and the " coach," a man 
named Gray, went to New London. Quarters 

Wright started, and exchanged a meaning 
look with Brooks. 

'■ Where did he say he was going ? " he 

"He did n't tell me, and I did n't think it 
necessary to ask. He is n't the kind of fellow 
to do anything foolish or to get into trouble, 
you know. He '11 be back in good time." 

" Oh, yes." Wright returned absently; " he '11 
come back, I suppose " ; and Gray thought he 



(SEE PAGE 731.) 

had been secured on the western bank of the 
Thames River, and only a few hundred yards 
above those occupied by the crew of the rival 
university on the opposite shore. 

After supper on the evening of their arrival, 
Fales asked permission to spend two hours 
away from quarters. Gray considered for a 
moment and then consented. Active training 
had been begun; but he knew Fales to be a 
steady fellow who would n't get into mischief. 

About an hour after Fales had left, Wright 
noticed his absence and asked where he was. 

" He asked leave to be away for a couple of 
hours, and I let him go," explained Gray. 

detected a suggestive tone in his voice ; but the 
other's face told nothing, and in a few minutes 
the whole thing had passed from his mind. 

An hour later, just as they were going in- 
doors, Fales came around a corner of the 
porch with a quiet " Good evening." Wright 
glanced at him sharply; but the other was as 
grave and silent as usual, and Wright felt angry 
with himself for not speaking out and demand- 
ing an explanation of him. He turned aside to 
speak to Brooks, and was surprised not to see 
him. No one had seen him leave, either. 

In a little while Wright got up. " Well," he 
said, yawning, " I 'm going to bed, and I advise 




you to do the same. We 've got to go over a 
good part of that course on time to-morrow." 

Gray gave the same advice, but the crew 
went to bed reluctantly, for it was a magnificent 
night, clear and balmy. 

Wright had been in his room only a few min- 
utes when Brooks came in. " Tom," he said, 
" we were right about Fales. I 'm pretty certain 
now. When he left here he took the skiff and 
pulled over to the quarters on the other side. 
I had a suspicion of something when Gray told 
me he had got permission to go away, and I 
slipped out and took the single working-boat 
and paddled across the river. I came up to the 
slip over there without being noticed, and I 
saw Fales sitting in the shadow of a big pile, 
talking to their coxswain. I could n't hear 
what they said — they were too far off; but I 
saw them both plainly. Fales is a spy, that 's 
my opinion ! " 

" He 's a sneak — a low sneak ! If we lose 
that race, it '11 be due to him. And if we 're 
beaten, I '11 make it so hot for him that he '11 — " 
and Wright tried to find a word expressive of 
his feelings, and, failing, shut his jaws with a 
savage snap suggestive of something fearful in 
store for the No. 7 man. 

" There 's no use of borrowing trouble," re- 
marked Brooks, after a pause. " We can't do 
anything now, and what we 'd better do is to 
get to bed and try to look on the bright side of 
things. Good night ! " and he stalked out of 
the room. 

Wright went to bed promptly ; but he could 
not sleep for a while; for somehow he could 
not see any bright side to the affair. 

It was half-past four o'clock when the two 
crews "lined up " on the afternoon of the race. 
It was a magnificent day. The river lay calm, 
except where a breath of air touched it into life 
and sent the ripples chasing down stream. The 
tide was nearly done running out, and the spar- 
buoys stood up almost straight in the water. 
On the western bank the old town shone out 
clear in the sunlight, a short distance below the 
starting-point. On the right the land rose close 
to the river, and a little further up the green of 
the trees was enlivened by the gay colors of 
the flags lazily drooping from the staffs on the 
Vol. XXII.— 92. 

house of one of the residents. Two great ex- 
cursion steamers laboriously churned the water. 
Their throbbing engines told of the pressure in 
their boilers, as they awaited the start. A host 
of naphtha or steam launches swarmed about, 
puffing inordinately and getting in every one's 
way, while rival captains bellowed directions 
at each other over some awkward movement. 
The banks swarmed with black coats and white 
dresses, those of the town folk not on the steam 
craft, and everything seemed to breathe a sup- 
pressed excitement. 

Fifty feet below the long shells the referee's 
launch lay; and, clinging to the rail as he leaned 
over the sharp cutwater, the referee himself 
was giving orders in quick, exact tones. 

At last he had finished, and the eighteen 
men in the shells who had been straining their 
ears to catch every word, straightened them- 
selves in their seats and nervously gripped their 
oars afresh. Then, with the blood tingling cu- 
riously in their finger-ends, they leaned their 
heads forward a trifle, and with eyes straight 
astern awaited the word. 

" Ready ! " and sixteen oars flashed back the 
sunlight as they moved and clipped into the 
water again, their holders poising themselves, 
ready for the stroke. The launches had darted 
aside, the steamers were in position, and from 
the bows of the two shells up stream there 
stretched a clear space of water, which was 
lost only where the river bent toward the 
west. Suddenly there rang out, loud and clear, 
" Go ! " 

Like a flash sixteen pairs of shoulders 
squared, sixteen seats shot back, and the water 
surged astern from the driven blades. A 
second later, and the river boiled under the 
wheels and propellers of the steam-craft, and 
a mighty shout went up, punctuated by a 
dozen shrill blasts from the pipes of the 

The two shells had leaped forward almost 
together. Leaning easily in the seat, Brooks 
gave a look to his crew. With tense fingers 
grasping the tiller-ropes, he uttered a low 
"Steady!" which thrilled each man in the 
boat, and made them stretch out by common 
impulse and send the water flying in eddying 
circles from their blades. In twenty strokes 




the crew had settled down, and Brooks, with 
another warning "Steady!" gave a glance to 
their opponents. 

Not over fifty feet away the other crew, 
working together in perfect unison, were hold- 
ing their own splendidly. He could not 
refrain from admiring the regular rise and fall 
of the shoulders of each oarsman, and the 
long, powerful " reach " and " catch " of the 
eight oars. He saw the struggle which was 
ahead before either crew would win, and turned 
to his own boat again. 

Wright was pulling thirty-five strokes to the 
minute, and his boat was going fully as fast 
as the other, despite the fact that the quick 
sound of the oars in the locks on the rival 
shell told of the faster stroke the stroke-oars- 
man there was setting. Brooks saw with sat- 
isfaction the cool determination in the faces 
of those nearest to him. 

At the half-mile post the two shells were 
nearly bow and bow, and Wright was still 
pulling but thirty-five strokes, while his rivals 
were rowing thirty-seven. 

The steamers were strung out far in the 
rear, except the referee's launch, which cut 
the water only fifty yards astern. The shouts 
had died out, and only an occasional yell from 
the more enthusiastic admirers of one crew or 
the other, with a periodic whistle from some 
launch, showed the interest of the spectators. 

At the mile buoy the faster stroke of the 
other boat, Brooks saw, had forced it fully 
five feet ahead of them. It was only five feet ; 
but he did not like even that, and, leaning 
forward, he spoke a low word to Wright. 
Then followed the " Ready, there ! " and the 
quick yell of the stroke-oar as he set a faster 
pace. Twenty times the oars flashed in and 
out and they were again even with the other 
boat, which had made no spurt. A half-mile 
further, and they were still on equal terms with 
their rivals, and half *of the three miles of the 
race was covered. 

As they rounded a slight bend a little further 
on, Brooks gave another searching glance to 
his crew. Not a face there but was set and 
resolved ; not one that looked dispirited, though 
every man was pulling strongly, and the per- 
spiration streamed from faces and shoulders. 

Pleased with what he saw, he whispered again 
to the stroke, and at the same instant heard 
the indistinct sound of a similar warning in 
the other boat. 

Again came the " Steady there ! " followed 
smartly by Wright's yell. Then there was a 
quick pull, another, a third, and on the third 
an ominous crack, a crunching sound, and 
the shell jarred sharply. Wright had shot 
back helpless in his seat, the handle of his 
oar clasped in his hands, while the blade 
drifted to the stern, broken off at the rowlock. 
For the moment the confusion among the 
crew was complete. Brooks shouted direc- 
tions; but the disorganization was sufficient 
to make the shell lose headway and sheer 
off toward the starboard side. The other boat 
was fully half a length ahead almost immedi- 
ately ; but it looked like a collision, the two 
shells were so close to each other. 

Then, just as the stroke-oar in the other 
boat came opposite to the bow of their boat, 
there came to each crew an order. 

" Let her go — all together there! " sang out 
the coxswain of their rival, and his boat shot 
forward under the increased stroke. But to 
Brooks's ears a more grateful sound was the 
deep-toned voice of the No. 7 man in his 
own crew, " Steady there ! Now, pick her up, 
all together ! " and then his sharp " One — two 

— three — four — five — six — seven — eight 

— nine — ten ! " 

And, as if by magic, order sprang from dis- 
order, and at each count there was a strong 
united pull, and Brooks felt the boat lift and 
shoot as the seven men threw their weight 
on the oars. He saw that the crew recognized 
a leader in Fales, and that they were inspired 
with renewed energy by his encouraging words 
and example. Brooks, in the excitement of the 
moment, had not paid especial attention to the 
No. 7 man before. Now the latter suddenly 
had become the master of the situation. Upon 
him everything depended. Whether they were 
to win the race with only seven oars against the 
eight of their opponents was to be determined 
largely by his skill and strength. Wright had 
drawn his seat as close to the foot-stretcher as he 
could manage, and sat there, still and helpless, 
but with a strange look on his face as he realized 



that Fales had so cleverly and determinedly 
assumed the duties of stroke-oar. Brooks 
grasped the tiller-lines more firmly, for by this 
time the shell was upon her course ; but having 
only three men on one side of the boat to the 
four on the other made it difficult to keep her 
steady. Brooks saw, however, that they were 
now holding their own with their rivals, who 
were one boat's length ahead. They had yet 
a mile to go, and slowly but surely, under the 
faster stroke of Fales, they were diminishing the 
distance separating them from the leading boat. 
A half-mile further, and the stern of their rivals' 
shell was even with the middle of their own. 
But they could not gain another inch ; for the 
others had begun rowing a faster stroke. Spurt 
for spurt the two crews made; but the advan- 
tage of the leaders was not once permanently 
increased or lessened. 

Then, just as they came into the last quar- 
ter of a mile, the other crew began pulling 
quickly, and their boat crept slowly ahead. 
Brooks looked inquiringly at Fales; but Fales 
only shook his head slightly. A third of the 
last quarter was passed over, and their ri- 
vals were nearly clear of them, when Brooks, 
watching Fales's face anxiously, saw him give 
a sudden look of command. Instantly his 
voice rang out clear : 

" Now, give it to her, all together ! Pick her 
right up ! " And he began to count sharply. 

With the first word Fales uttered a short cry 
and went back on his seat like a flash. Almost 
as quickly he had drawn himself together again, 
and the crew responded nobly to his thirty- 
nine stroke. The boat jumped to the first 
stroke like a thing of life, and the water hissed 
and swirled madly from the oars. Brooks saw 
the great muscles on the shoulders and thighs 
of the No. 7 man stand out like cords, and he 
heard the labored breathing of the men as they 
bent to their work. But, best of all, he saw 
they were rapidly overtaking the other boat. 

Now they had entered upon the last hundred 
yards of the race, and the stroke had been 
raised to forty to the minute, and the cox- 
swain of the other boat was nearly on a level 
with Brooks. Wright's face was wreathed 
with smiles. Fifty yards, and they were even ; 
twenty-five, and Brooks saw the swirl from the 


stroke-oar of their rivals opposite to him, and he 
knew his own boat was ahead. A few last 
strokes, and they had passed the buoy at the 
finish ; and with a shout of " Way enough ! " 
Brooks threw out his hand to Wright. 

But the latter had turned in his seat and 
had grasped the hand of the No. 7 man in 
his own, and was gripping it hard. 

" You 've won the race for us," he was say- 
ing. And Fales could only return the hand- 
shake and look happy. 

And then there were yells and cheers from 
the friends of the winning crew ; for the big 
steamers and the launches had come up. The 
two shells had drifted close together, and as the 
crews rested in their seats, the oars lying flat on 
the water, Fales suddenly looked across at the 
coxswain of the other boat, who sat dejectedly, 
holding the loose tiller-lines in his hands. 

" Wright," Fales said, turning his face toward 
the latter, " I want to introduce you to my 
cousin, Dean Bartow " ; and he indicated the 
coxswain of the rival crew. 

"I 'm glad to meet you," said Wright; "but 
I 'm sorry it 's under such circumstances — 
sorry for you, you understand," with a smile. 

" Well," returned the other, frankly, " you 
are n't more sorry than I am. But I suppose I 
ought to have expected it. You don't get an 
oar like Bert Fales every day, if I say it my- 
self. But to be beaten by seven men ! " 
and he looked so disgusted that the others 
laughed; they could n't help it. "And the 
worst of it all is," continued Bartow, " that 
Bert 's been writing to me every week — we 're 
great chums, you know — and telling me that 
he expected you would be beaten, now that 
he was in the crew. Never mind ; he won't 
be with you next year, and then — well, we '11 
get even with you, or at least we '11 try. 
Good-by ! " and his crew, taking up their oars, 
slowly pulled up the river to their quarters. 

For a minute Wright and Brooks looked 
after the other boat; then the former gave 
the latter a shamefaced glance. Foster came 
to Wright's room that night, when no one else 
was there but Brooks, and the three took a 
solemn vow never to hint at what they had 
suspected. " And to think," said Brooks, just 
before he left, "that we thought Fales a spy." 


By Howard Pyle. 

[Begun in the April number, lSQ4-\ 

Chapter XLV. 


Early in the morning, perhaps by eight 
o'clock, a boat came OYer to the settlement 
from the lieutenant's schooner, which, with 
the sloop, lay some four or five miles away. 
A number of men were lounging on the land- 
ing, watching its approach. The men in the 
boat rowed close up to the landing, and there 
lay upon their oars. A man stood up in the 
stern. It was the master's mate of the 
schooner. " Is there any man here," said he, 
" what can pilot over the shoals ? " 

Nobody answered him ; they stood staring 
stupidly at him. One of the men at last took 
his pipe out of his mouth. "There be n't 
any pilot here, master," said he. " We be n't 
none of us pilots." 

" Why, what a story you do tell ! " said the 
mate. " D' ye suppose I 've never been down 
here before, not to know that every man about 
here knows the passes of the shoals ? " 

The man still held his pipe in his hand. 
He looked at another one of the men. " Do 
you know the passes in over the shoals, Jem ? " 
said he. 

The man to whom he spoke was a young fel- 
low with long, shaggy, sunburned hair hanging 
over his eyes in an unkempt mass. He shook 
his head, grunting. " Na; I don't know naught 
about t' shoals," said he. 

navy, in command of them vessels out there," 
said the mate. " He '11 give any man five 
pounds to pilot him in." The men on the 
wharf looked at one another, but no one spoke. 
The mate sat looking at them ; he saw that they 
did not choose to answer him. " Why," said 
he, " I believe you 've not got right wits : 

that 's what I believe is the matter with you. 
Pull me up to the landing, men, and I '11 go 
ashore and see if I can find anybody that 's 
willing to make five pounds for such a little bit 
of piloting as that." 

After the mate had gone the loungers still 
stood on the wharf looking down into the boat. 
They began talking to one another for the men 
in the boat to hear them. 

" They 're coming in," said one, " to blow poor 
Blackbeard out of the water." " Ay," said an- 
other man ; " he 's meek, too, he is. He '11 just 
lie still and let 'em blow and blow, he will." 
" There 's a young fellow there," said another 
of the men ; " he don't look fit to die yet, he 
don't. Why, I would n't be in his place for 
a thousand pound." " I do suppose Black- 
beard 's so afraid he don't know how to see," 
said the first speaker. 

The men in the boat had sat listening. At 
last one of them spoke up. " Maybe he don't 
know how to see," said he ; " but maybe we '11 
blow some daylight into him afore we get 
through with him." 

Some more men had come out from the 
shore to the end of the wharf. There was now 
quite a crowd standing looking at the men in 
the boat. " What do them Virginny 'baccy- 
eaters do down here in Caroliny, anyway ? " 
said one of the new-comers. " They 've got no 
call to be down here in North Carolina waters." 

" Maybe you can keep us away from coming, 
and maybe you can't," said a man from the 

'T is Lieutenant Maynard of his Majesty's boat. 

" Why," answered a man on the wharf, " we 
could keep you away easy enough ; but you 
be n't worth the trouble, and that 's the truth." 

There was a heavy iron bolt lying near the 
edge of the landing. One of the men upon the 
wharf slyly pushed it out with the end of his 
foot. It hung for a moment, and then fell into 



the boat below with a crash. " What d' ye 
mean by that ? " roared the man in charge of 
the boat. "What d' ye mean, ye villains? 
D' ye mean to stave us in ? " 

" Why," said the man who had pushed it, 
" you saw 't was n't done a-purpose, did n't 
you ? " 

" Well, you try it again and somebody '11 get 
hurt," said the man in the boat, showing the 
butt-end of a pistol. 

The men on the wharf began laughing. Just 
then the mate came down from the settlement 
again, and out along the landing. The threat- 
ened turbulence quieted as he approached, and 
the crowd moved stolidly aside to let him pass. 
He did not bring any pilot with him. He 
jumped down into the stern of the boat. " Push 
off," said he, briefly. The crowd of loungers 
stood looking after them as they rowed away. 
When the boat was some distance away from 
the landing they burst out into a volley of 
derisive yells. "The villains!" said the mate. 
"They are all in league together. They would 
not even let me go up into the settlement for a 

The lieutenant and his sailing-master stood 
together watching the boat as it approached. 
" Could n't you, then, get a pilot, Baldwin ? " said 
Mr. Maynard, as the mate scrambled aboard. 

" Why, no, I could n't, sir," said the mate. 
" Either they 're all banded together, or else 
they 're all afraid of the villains. They would n't 
even let me go up into the settlement to find 

"Well, then," said Mr. Maynard, "we '11 
make shift to work in as best we may by our- 
selves. 'T will be high tide against one 
o'clock. We '11 run in then with sail as far as 
we can, and then we '11 send you ahead with 
the boat to sound for a pass, and we '11 follow 
with the sweeps. You know the waters pretty 
well, you say." 

" They were saying ashore that the villain 
hath forty men aboard," said the mate.* 

Lieutenant Maynard's force consisted of thirty- 
five men in the schooner and twenty-five men 
in the sloop. He carried neither cannons nor 
carronades, and neither of his vessels was very 
* The pirate Captain had really only twenty-five 

well fitted for the purpose for which they were 
sent out. The schooner, which he himself 
commanded, offered no protection to the crew. 
It was not more than a foot high in the waist, 
and the men on the deck were almost entirely 
exposed. The rail of the sloop was perhaps 
a little higher; but still it was hardly better 
adapted for fighting. Indeed, the lieutenant 
depended more upon the moral force of official 
authority to overawe the villains than upon 
his force of arms or men. He never believed 
until the very last moment that the pirates 
would show any real fight. It is very possible 
that they might not have resisted had they not 
thought that the lieutenant had really no legal 
right to attack them. 

It was about noon when anchor was hoisted, 
and, with the schooner leading, both vessels 
ran slowly in before a light wind that had be- 
gun to blow toward midday. In each vessel 
a man stood in the bows, sounding continually 
with lead and line. As they slowly opened up 
the harbor within the inlet, they could see the 
pirate sloop. There was a boat just putting 
off from it to the shore. 

The lieutenant and his sailing-master stood 
together on the roof of the cabin deck-house. 
The sailing-master held a glass to his eye. 
" She carries a long gun, sir," said he, " and 
four carronades. She '11 be hard to beat, sir, I 
do suppose, armed as we are with only small 
arms for close fighting." 

The lieutenant laughed. " Why, Brookes," 
said he, " you seem to think forever of these 
men showing fight. You don't know them as 
I know them. They have a deal of bluster 
and make a deal of noise, but when you seize 
them and hold them with a strong hand there 's 
naught of fight left in them. 'T is like enough 
there '11 not be so much as a musket fired to- 
day. I 've had to do with 'em often enough 
before to know my gentlemen well by this 
time." Nor was it until the very last that the 
lieutenant could be brought to admit that the 
pirates had any stomach for a fight. 

The two vessels had reached to perhaps 
within a mile of the pirate sloop, Before they 
found the water too shoal to venture any fur- 
ther with sail. It was then that the boat was 
men aboard of his sloop at the time of the fight. 




lowered, as the lieutenant had planned, and the 
mate went ahead to sound, the two vessels, 
with their sails still hoisted, but empty of wind, 
pulling in after with sweeps. 

The pirate had hoisted sail, and now lay as 
though waiting for the approach of the two 

The boat in which the mate was sounding 
had run a considerable distance ahead of the 
larger and more cumbersome vessels. The 
sloop and the schooner had gradually crept up 
with the sweeps to within perhaps a little less 
than half a mile, and the boat with the mate 
was, maybe, a quarter of a mile closer. Sud- 
denly there was a puff of smoke from the pirate 
sloop, and then another and another, and the 
next moment there came the three reports of 
muskets up the wind. 

" Zounds ! " said the lieutenant, " I do be- 
lieve they 're firing on the boat." As he 
spoke the boat turned and began pulling to- 
ward them. " Yes ; there they are, coming 
back again," said he. 

The boat with the mate aboard was putting 
back, rowing rapidly. Again there were three 
or four puffs of smoke, and three or four re- 
ports from the muskets on the distant vessel. 
Then in a little while the boat was alongside, 
and the mate came scrambling aboard. " Never 
mind hoisting the boat," said the lieutenant; 
" we '11 just take her in tow. Come aboard as 
quick as you can." Then, turning to the sail- 
ing-master, " Well, Brookes, you '11 have to 
crack on all sail, and we '11 do the best we can 
to get in over the shoals." 

" But, sir," said the master, " we '11 be sure 
to run aground." 

"Very well, sir," said the lieutenant; "you 
heard my orders. If we run aground, we run 
aground, and that 's all there is of it." 

" I sounded, as far as may be, a little over a 
fathom," said the mate; " but the villains would 
let me get no further. I think I was in the 
channel, though. 'T is more open inside, as I 
mind me of it. There 's a kind of a hole there, 
and if we get in over the shoals just beyond 
where I was, we '11 be all right." 

" Well, then, you take the wheel, Baldwin," 
said the lieutenant, " and do the best you can 
for us." 

Lieutenant Maynard stood looking out for- 
ward at the pirate vessel, which they were now 
steadily nearing under half sail. He could see 
that there were signs of bustle aboard, and of 
men running around upon the deck. 

Then he walked aft and around the cabin. 
The sloop was some distance astern. It ap- 
peared to have run aground, and they were try- 
ing to push it off with the sweeps. The lieu- 
tenant looked over the stern. It seemed to 
him that the schooner was already raising the 
mud in her wake. He went forward across the 
deck. His men were crouching down along 
by the rail. There was a quietness of expecta- 
tion about them. The lieutenant looked them 
over as he passed. " Johnson," said he, " do 
you take the lead and line and go forward 
and sound a bit." Then to the others : " Now, 
my men, the moment we run her aboard, you 
get aboard of her as quick as you can, do you 
understand ? Don't wait for the sloop, or think 
about her; but just get aboard as quick as you 
can, and see that the grappling-irons are fast. 
If any man offers to resist you, shoot him down. 
Are you all ready, Mr. Cringle ? " 

" Ay, ay, sir," said the gunner. 

"Very well, then. Be ready, men; we '11 
board 'em in a minute or two." 

" There 's less than a fathom of water here, 
sir," called out Johnson from the bows. As he 
spoke there was a sudden soft jar and jerk, then 
the schooner was still. They were aground. 

" Push her off to the starboard there ! Let go 
your sheets ! " roared the mate from the wheel. 
" Push her off to the starboard ! " He spun the 
wheel around as he spoke. Half a dozen men 
sprang up, seized the sweeps, and plunged them 
into the water. Others ran to help them, but 
the sweeps only sank into the mud without 
moving the schooner. The sails had fallen off, 
and they were flapping and thumping and clap- 
ping in the wind. Others of the crew had 
scrambled to their feet, and ran to help those 
at the sweeps. The lieutenant had walked 
quickly aft again. They were very close to 
the pirate sloop. Suddenly some one hailed 
the lieutenant from aboard of her. There was 
a man standing up on the rail of the pirate 
sloop, holding by the backstays. 

"Who are you?" he called; "and whence 




come you ? What do you seek here ? What 
d' ye mean, coming down on us this way ? " 

The lieutenant heard somebody say, "That 's 
Blackbeard himself"; and he looked curiously 
at the distant figure. 

The pirate stood out boldly against the cloudy 
sky. Somebody seemed to speak to him from 
behind. He turned his head. Then he turned 
around again. "We 're only peaceful merchant- 
men ! " he called. " What authority have you 
got to come down upon us this way ? If you '11 
come aboard I '11 show you my papers, and 
that we 're only peaceful merchantmen." 

" The villains ! " said the lieutenant to the 
master, who stood beside him. " They 're 
peaceful merchantmen, are they ? They look 
like peaceful merchantmen, with four carron- 
ades and a long gun aboard! " Then he called 
out across the water, " I '11 come aboard with 
my schooner as soon as I can push her off 

" If you undertake to come aboard of me," 
called the pirate, " I '11 shoot into you. You 've 
got no authority to board me, and I sha'n't 
have you do it. If you undertake to do it, 
't will be your own fault, for I '11 neither ask 
quarter of you, nor give none." 

" Very well," said the lieutenant ; " if you 
choose to try that, you may do as you please ; 
for I 'm coming aboard of you as sure as 

" Push oft" the bow there ! " called the mate 
at the wheel. " Look alive ! Why don't you 
push off the bow ? " 

"She 's hard aground," answered the gunner; 
" we can't budge her an inch." 

" If they was to fire into us now," said the 
mate, " they 'd smash us to pieces." 

" They won't fire into us," said the lieu- 
tenant ; " they won't dare to." He jumped 
down from the cabin deck-house as he spoke, 
and went forward to urge the men in pushing 
off the boat. It was already beginning to 

" Mr. Maynard ! Mr. Maynard ! " cried out 
the sailing-master, suddenly, " they 're going to 
give us a broadside ! " 

Almost before the words were out of his 
mouth, or Lieutenant Maynard could turn, 
there came a loud and deafening crash, and 

then instantly another and a third, and at the 
same moment a crackling and rending of 
broken wood. There were clean yellow splin- 
ters flying. A man fell violently against the 
lieutenant, nearly overturning him ; the officer 
caught at the stays, and so saved himself. He 
waited one tense moment, almost holding his 
breath. Was he hurt ? No ; he was safe and 
unharmed. Then all about him was the sound 
of cries and groans and shouts and oaths. The 
man who had fallen against him was lying 
face down upon the deck. There were men 
down all about him. Some were rising, some 
were trying to rise, some only moved as they 

There was a distant yelling and cheering 
and shouting. It was from the pirate sloop. 
The pirates were rushing about upon her decks. 
They had pulled the cannon back, and, through 
the nearer sound of the groans about him, 
the lieutenant could hear the thud and punch 
of the rammers. He knew they were going to 
shoot again. "They 're going to give us an- 
other broadside ! " he called out. " Get down 
below, all hands, as quick as you can ! What 's 
the matter, Cringle ? Are you hurt ? " 

The gunner was holding his arm. " Why, 
no, sir," said he. " A bolt or summat struck 
me, and I thought 't was broke; but I believe 
't is all right." While he was speaking, all the 
men who could do so ran scrambling down 

"Well, get down below as quick as you can," 
said the lieutenant. " The villains are going to 
shoot again. There 's no shelter here with this 
low rail." 

The lieutenant stood looking about him. 
The decks were clear, except for the three dead 
men, and some three or four wounded who 
could not get away. The mate was crouching 
down close to the wheel ; the sailing-master was 
nowhere to be seen. " Where 's Brookes ? " 
said the lieutenant. 

" He 's hurt in the arm, sir, and he 's gone 
below," said the mate. 

The lieutenant ran over to the forecastle 
hatch. " Below there, Cringle ! " called he. 

"Ay, ay, sir!" came the gunner's voice 
from below. 

" Set up another ladder, so as to get the 

73 6 



men up on deck lively when they 're wanted. 
They '11 likely be coming aboard of us presently." 

" They 're going to shoot again, sir," called 
out the mate. 

The lieutenant saw the gunner aboard the 
pirate sloop in the act of touching the match 
to the touch-hole. He stooped down. There 
was another loud and deafening crash of can- 
non; one, two, three, four — the last two almost 
together. But this time there was no sound of 
crashing and splintering wood. 

" 'T is the sloop, sir ! " called out the mate. 
" Look at the sloop ! " 

The sloop had got afloat again, and was 
coming up when the pirates fired their second 
broadside, now at her. When the lieutenant 
looked at her she was still quivering with the 
impact of the shot. The next moment she 
began falling off to the wind. The lieutenant 
could see the wounded men rising and falling 
and struggling upon her decks. Again there 
was the sound of yells and cheering aboard the 
pirate vessel. 

" They 're going to come aboard of us now, 
sir," said the mate. 

" Zounds ! I believe they are," said the 
lieutenant. As he spoke, the pirate sloop came 
drifting out from the cloud of smoke that en- 
veloped her. 

The lieutenant rushed forward to the hatch- 
way. " Below there, Cringle ! " cried he. 

" Ay, ay, sir ! " said the gunner. 

" They 're coming aboard of us now. Be 
ready when I give the order for all hands 
on deck with pistols and cutlases for short 

" Ay, ay, sir." 

The pirate sloop loomed up larger and larger 
as she bore down upon them. The lieutenant 
crouched down under the rail, looking out at 
her. Suddenly, a little distance away, she 
came about, broadside on, and then drifted. 
She was close aboard. Something came flying 
through the air — another and another. They 
were bottles. One of them broke with a crash 
upon the deck. The others rolled over to the 
further rail. In each of them a quick-match 
was smoking. Almost instantly there was a 
flash and a terrific report, and the air was full 
of the whiz and singing of broken particles of 

glass and iron. There was another report, 
and the whole air seemed full of gunpowder 

There was a sudden jar. 

"They 're aboard of us!" said the mate; 
and even as he spoke the lieutenant roared 
out, "All hands to repel boarders ! " 

As he called out the order, he himself ran 
forward through the smoke, snatching one of 
his pistols out of his pocket and the cutlas out 
of its sheath. The men were coming swarming 
up from below. There was a sudden stunning 
report of a pistol, and then another and another 
almost together. There was a groan, and the 
fall of a heavy body. A figure came jumping 
over the rail, and then two or three more 
directly following. The lieutenant was in the 
midst of the gunpowder smoke. Suddenly 
Blackbeard was there. He had stripped him- 
self naked to the waist. There were two slings, 
each with a brace of pistols, hanging around 
his shoulders. Almost with the blindness of 
instinct, the lieutenant thrust out his pistol, 
firing as he did so. The pirate staggered back. 
He was down ! No, he was up again ! He had 
a pistol in each hand. Suddenly the mouth of 
a pistol was pointing straight at the lieutenant's 
head. He ducked instinctively, striking up- 
ward with his cutlas as he did so. There was 
a stunning, deafening report almost in his ear. 
He struck again blindly with his cutlas. He 
saw the flash of a sword, and flung up his guard 
almost instinctively, meeting the crash of the 
descending blade. Somebody shot from be- 
hind him ; at the same moment he saw some 
one strike the pirate. One of Maynard's own 
men tumbled headlong against him, and he fell 
with the man; but almost instantly he had 
scrambled to his feet again. As he did so he 
saw that the pirate sloop had drifted a little 
way from them. His hand was smarting as 
though struck with the lash of a whip. He 
looked around him ; the pirate Captain was 
nowhere to be seen — yes, there he was, lying 
by the rail ! He raised himself upon his 
elbow, and the lieutenant saw that he was 
trying to point a pistol at him ; but his arm 
wavered and swayed, and the pistol nearly fell 
from his fingers. His elbow gave way, and he 
fell down upon his face. He tried to raise him- 

.8 9 5-] 



self; he fell down again, then rolled over, then 
lay still. 

There was a loud splash of men jumping 
overboard, and then almost instantly the cry 
of " Quarter ! Quarter ! " The lieutenant ran 
to the edge of the vessel. The grappling-irons 
of the pirate ship had parted, and it had drifted 
away. The few pirates who had been left 
aboard of the schooner had jumped overboard 
or were holding up their hands. ''Quarter!" 
they cried. " Don't shoot ! Quarter ! " And 
the fight was over. 

The lieutenant looked down at his hand. 
There was a great cutlas gash across the back 
of it, and his arm and shirt-sleeve were wet with 
blood. He went aft, holding the wrist of his 
wounded hand. The mate was still at the 
wheel. " Zounds ! " said the lieutenant, with 
a nervous, quavering laugh, " I did n't know 
there was such fight in the villains." 

His wounded and shattered sloop was again 
coming up toward him, under sail; but the pirate 
sloop had surrendered, and the fight was over. 

Chapter XLVI. 


Jack had now been living for more than a 
month as one of the household at Marlbor- 
ough. He was almost like one of the family, 
and he and Nelly Parker were constantly to- 
gether. It was now the beginning of Decem- 
ber, and the Attorney Burton had just left for 
England with letters to Jack's uncle, Sir Roger 
Ballister, from Colonel Parker. Meantime Col- 
onel Parker was rather Jack's host than patron. 

It was a beautiful clear Sunday, with just a 
sweet freshness in the air. It had been raining 
the day before, and the roads here and there 
were very deep with sticky mud, through which 
the horses could hardly pull the coach; but 
overhead it was very beautiful. 

Colonel Parker was always very strict in 
his family observance of Sundays. He almost 
never failed, excepting when he was sick, to 
attend the parish church, and his household 
was also expected to attend. 

Colonel Parker and Madam Parker and the 
young lady and Jack had all gone together in 
the coach. 

Vol. XXII.— 93. 

It was very chill and damp in the churchy 
Mr. Jones was preaching a rather longer ser- 
mon than usual. Jack sat in the big, square,, 
cushioned pew, curtained off from the rest of 
the congregation, looking up at the minister 
where he stood in the great high pulpit with 
the sounding-board above his head. 

At times Jack would understand a portion 
of the sermon. Then his mind would drift into 
other channels and far away — generally to 
petty things concerning his every-day life. Col- 
onel Parker sat in the corner of the pew, per- 
fectly still and upright. Nelly Parker was play- 
ing with the ribbon of her prayer-book, and 
Madam Parker was frankly dozing in the op- 
posite corner. 

Mr. Jones preached on and on. Jack re- 
membered that he had never seen Mr. Richard 
Parker, excepting that one time, since he had 
come back from North Carolina. What was 
Mr. Parker doing now ? It was over a month 
since Jack had brought the young ladyhome,and 
his old master had never visited Marlborough 
in all that time. He wondered how it looked 
at the Roost; whether the same people were 
there that had been there when he ran away 
three or four months before. 

As he sat thinking aimlessly, something 
aroused him and he was suddenly conscious 
that Mr. Jones was just closing his sermon. 

Jack followed the family out of the church,, 
carrying the prayer-books. 

A little knot of people gathered around in 
front of the church. The sunlight felt very 
warm and sweet after the chill, damp interior. 
There was a great deal of talk going on all about 
him. Jack felt, as he always did in the midst 
of these people, that he was not really one of 
them. He felt uncomfortable and out of place, 

Mr. Bamfield Oliver's family were all at 
church that morning — Mr. Oliver, the father,, 
two daughters, and young Harry Oliver. Mr.. 
Bamfield Oliver and Colonel Parker were talk- 
ing together. Mr. Oliver had offered Colonel 
Parker a pinch of snuff from the fine, gold- 
enameled snuff-box he always carried on Sun- 
days. Madam Parker and Nelly Parker and 
the two Misses Oliver were talking together 
animatedly. Harry Oliver stood by, smiling 




now and then with a flash of his perfect teeth, 
and now and then speaking a word in the talk. 
■" If you '11 be home this afternoon, Miss," said 
he to Nelly Parker, " I 'd like to ride over. Tis 
a sweet day to treat one's self to a pleasure." 

" Do, Mr. Oliver," said Madam Parker. 
" Nelly '11 be mightily glad to see you. And 
stay to sup with us. You '11 have a full moon 
for the ride back." 

Jack knew one of Mr. Oliver's sisters; the 
other was a stranger to him. She was looking 
very intently at him. Presently she whispered 
to her brother. Jack knew that she was speak- 
ing of him; he tried to look unconscious. He 
had grown so accustomed to hearing people 
speak of his saving Eleanor Parker from the 
pirates, that he knew from their looks when 
tiiey were thinking of it. It no longer afforded 
him any pleasure. Now he knew almost what 
the young lady was saying as she whispered 
to her brother. Harry Oliver burst out laugh- 
ing. " Why, Master Jack," said he, " here 's 
another young lady hath lost her heart to you, 
and thinks you a hero. The fame of your ad- 
ventures hath reached all the way to the Ber- 
muda Hundred, 't would seem." 

The young lady's velvety cheek, dark like 
her brother's, colored to a soft crimson, and she 
turned sharply away. Jack felt himself blush- 
ing in sympathy. Nelly Parker laughed. 

Just then Mr. Jones came out of the church. 
He had removed his surplice, and with it the 
ministerial air that he wore in the pulpit. 

" Will you not come over and take dinner 
with us ? " said Colonel Parker. 

Mr. Jones had hoped Colonel Parker would 
ask him. " Why, sir," said he, hesitatingly, " I 
would like mightily much to do so, sir." 

" Why, then, do so," said Colonel Parker. 
" Did you ride over this morning ? " 

" Yes, sir, I did," said Mr. Jones ; " I have 
my horse over yonder in the shed." 

" Well, then," said Colonel Parker, " you 
shall go over with us in the coach. Jack, here, 
will ride your horse to Marlborough." 

Jack heard with a sinking heart. All through 
the sermon he had been looking forward to the 
ride home with Nelly Parker. 

Harry Oliver went with the family toward 
the coach, where one of the negro footmen 

stood, holding open the door. Jack followed, 
still carrying the books. Harry Oliver's mother 
called him, and he left Nelly Parker at the gate 
of the churchyard. Jack felt a keen pang of plea- 
sure that he had gone, and that he himself had 
Nelly Parker even for a moment. It seemed 
to him that when Harry Oliver was with her 
she forgot all about him. " I 'm mightily sorry 
I 'm not going to ride home with you," he said 
as he helped her into the coach. 

She looked at him straight in the eyes. 
He looked back at her. He felt a pang of 
happiness so keen that it was almost painful. 
She burst out laughing, and the next moment 
had stepped into the coach. Jack handed in 
the books, and stood aside. The negro footman 
closed the yellow, paneled door with a bang. 
The great coach moved lumberingly away, 
yawing and swaying from side to side, and the 
three negro footmen ran after it, and scrambled 
up behind to the rail. 

Jack stood in the thin sunlight, looking after 
it. Then he turned and went slowly over to 
the shed where the minister's horse was hitched. 

He caught up with the coach before it had 
reached Marlborough, and then followed it 
closely the rest of the way to the house. 

After dinner Nelly Parker had gone to her 
room, and the house seemed very blank and 
empty. Jack stood at the window, watching 
Mr. Jones as he rode away back to his church. 

Presently Jack left the window and went over 
to the fireplace. He stood there for a while, 
warming himself and wondering what he should 
do. There was a book upon the table near by, 
with a handkerchief in it to keep the place. 
He picked it up, and began reading. Now and 
then the words formed themselves into ideas ; 
but at other times he read them without know- 
ing what he was reading, thinking of other 
things. He sat there for a long while. Sud- 
denly the door opened, and he heard the rustle 
of a dress. He knew instantly and vividly who 
had entered, but he would not look up. He 
heard her moving about the room. 

" What are you reading ? " said she at last. 

Jack looked at the top of the page. " 'T is 
the — er — 'The Masque of Comus,'" said he. 

" Why, to be sure," said she ; " I was reading 
it to papa yesterday." 

i8 95 -: 



She came over and stood behind his chair as 
she spoke. She leaned over him, looking down 
at the book in his hand. He felt her nearness, 
— almost the touch of her dress, — and his heart 
thrilled poignantly. 

Harry Oliver came into the room, laughing, 
and presently he and Nelly Parker were talk- 
ing and laughing together. Jack was pretending 
to read the book again. He was listening to 
what they were saying. Everything was once 
more bitter and displeasing to him. After a 
while he got up and went out of the room, and 
they did not seem to notice his going. 

Jack met Mr. Simms in the hallway without. 

" Ah, Master Jack," said he, " I 've been 
looking for you everywhere. His honor is in 
the office, and wants to see you." 

Colonel Parker was standing by the fire in 
his office when Jack came in. " Why, Jack," 
said he, " I 've just had great news from James- 
town." As he spoke he reached over and 
picked up a letter from the table, and then laid 
it down again. " Lieutenant Maynard hath just 
got back from North Carolina. He hath been 
altogether successful with the pirates. Black- 
beard hath been killed, and several others of 
the more notable among them." 

" What ! " exclaimed Jack ; " Blackbeard 
killed ! " Then again, after a moment, " Black- 
beard killed ! " He could not realize it. 

" Yes ; the villain hath but his deserts at last. 
He hath been killed, and there is an end to the 
villain and to his mischief," said Colonel Parker. 
" There were nine of them killed, and some 
seventeen of them have been captured and 
brought back prisoners. That is the lieutenant's 
letter I have just received. He hath got some 
one to write it for him, having been wounded 
in the hand. He saith in the letter that he 
cut off the pirate's head and brought it up with 
him to Jamestown. Well, the province is free of 
the greatest rogue that hath ever tormented it." 

Jack sat trying to realize what he had heard. 
" Do you know who else were killed ? " said he. 

" Yes ; he hath inclosed a list. He saith you 
may know them." Colonel Parker picked up 
the letter, and handed it to Jack. 

Jack took it, and looked at the column of 

names. "Why," said he, " Morton 's dead, too; 
and Miller, the quartermaster ; and Roberts and 
Gibbons. They are all of Blackbeard's officers." 

" Maynard says there was a lame man they 
arrested down at Bath Town and brought up 
with them." 

"Then that must be Hands," said Jack. 

" Well," said Colonel Parker, " what I send 
for you more especially to say is this." He 
took the letter from Jack, and held it in his own 
hand, glancing at it as he continued. " May- 
nard saith here that Blackbeard was killed 
down at Ocracock Inlet, and that according to 
his belief no one knows where his treasure was 
hid but himself. Maynard saith 't is so cur- 
rently reported in North Carolina. If that is 
so, 't is very possible that that chest of money the 
man Dred told you about hath not been touched. 
The chances, to be sure, are one hundred to 
one against it; but still there may be one chance 
in one hundred and one. Now, how would 
you like to go down to North Carolina and 
seek for that chest that he buried there ?" 

" Why," said Jack, " I 'd be very glad to do 
it." He thought of Nelly Parker; he felt a 
sudden rush of pleasure. 

" I was thinking," said Colonel Parker, " of 
sending Simms down. He can, maybe, go 
down to Jamestown to-morrow or next day, and 
there take the schooner, which is already fitted 
and provisioned, and go down in it. Of course 
his Excellency will send down an agent along 
with Simms. A large part of the contents of 
the chest belongs to the Baltimore merchants, 
and it will have to be condemned and owner- 
ship proved." 

" I 'd like mightily well to go down," said 
Jack. " 'T will seem so strange to go down 
to Bath Town again." 

" Well," said Colonel Parker, " I '11 talk the 
matter over with Simms, and let you know what 
he can do." He stood silent for a little while. 
Jack was thinking of how he would tell Nelly 
Parker of his going. " I don't choose to say 
anything to raise your expectations," said Colo- 
nel Parker, breaking the silence ; " but I think 
it very likely that, if you can recover the chest, 
I can so manage with the owners that you shall 
receive some reward for doing so." 

(To l>c continued.) 

All under the birchen boughs in the high 
mid-noon I lay — 
r//^ As idle a little maid as you 'd find in a 
summer's day ; 

And down by the woody path came my god- 
mother, dressed in green — 

The eeriest fairy godmother that ever your 
eyes have seen. 

Many a tale she tells of giants and dwarfs and elves, 

Of fairies who sweep the kitchen and eat from the pantry shelves; 

Of dwellers in earth and air, of toilers by land and sea — 

Oh, wonderful fairy tales my godmother tells to me ! 

" What, idle again ? " she said, and her queer black brows bent down, 
And her queer sharp nose was wrinkled in just the tiniest frown ! 
But her black eyes laughed and twinkled, and I cried, "Oh, godmother dear! 
A story, please, a story — just under the birches here!" 


Cragin the Dwarf is green and small ; 
He dwells far up on the mountain wall. 
When stormy clouds flit over the rocks, 
"Cragin," they say, "is feeding his flocks." 

When on his elf-steed down he rides 
All by the rivers and meadow-sides, 
Goodman and goodwife shake with fear 
To know that Cragin the Dwarf is near. 



Whither so fast? " cried the old witch-dame. 
(Reddened she sat in the sunset flame.) 
And quick he answered, with jeer and flout, 
I go to the Baron, to warn him out ! " 

Down on Cragin the Baron gazed — 
Tall and weighty and much amazed, 
Bluff and bearded and ruddy-haired — 
Long on Cragin the Baron stared. 

Fast he galloped by dale and down, 
Waving woodland and heather brown, 
Till, at last, he came where the castle black 
Braved the sea foam and hurled it back. 

•• Thrice my messenger-owls I sent 
Out to warn you, with kind intent ; 
But all my kindness seems out of place — 
Baron, vou come of a wilful race ! " 




" Owls ? " quoth the Baron. " Oh — yes ! hang 
'em ! 
Into feather-bags small I '11 bang 'em 
If ever they haunt me again. But you, — 
What do you mean by this to-do ? " 

" Leave to the witches your castle hall — 
To the crooked dwarfs and the elf-men small. 
And ere three sunsets redden yon path, 
Leave, Sir Baron, or dread our wrath ! " 

Booted and spurred was that Baron bold; 
His boots were heavv, his spurs were gold; 
Sudden, a swing of that doughty toe, 
And Cragin the Dwarf through the air 
doth go ! 

Up he picks him, all blood and dust ; 
Hies to his steed, — perforce he must ! 
All in a rage, away he rides, 
While the Baron shouts and shakes his sides. 

Rode that night on the storm blast loud 
Elves and witches — a motley crowd ; 
They shook the towers, besieged the wall, 
But the stout old castle stood it all. 

Roused at length by the direful rout, 
The Baron armed him and sallied out ; 

And — elves or witches — well he wist 
That his trusty sword had never missed. 

What horrid phantoms in fearful flight 
The Baron braved on that dreadful night 1 
What elfin missiles, what deadly charms, 
The Baron dared, and escaped from harms ! 

Neither ghost nor goblin the Baron feared, 
And wildly floated his ruddy beard, 
Till all the witches fled dismayed 
At the fearful thrusts of his trenchant blade t 

And on the wings of the wind they hied, 
Till storm and shriek in the distance died,. 
And only the low waves' phosphor spark 
Glanced in the depth of the glimmering dark. 

But never again on the mountain wall 
Walked Cragin the Dwarf, so green and 

small ; 
And never goodman or goodwife shrank 
At his horse's tread by the river bank. 

And lonely ever the mountain stood, 
With its hoary stones and its tufted wood — 
All reddened stood in the evening dew, 
Or burned in the midday, golden-blue. 


By Nixon Waterman. 

Little Jimmie Waitawhile and little Johnnie Now 

Grew up in homes just side by side; and that, you see, is how 

I came to know them both so well, for almost every day 

I used to watch them at their work and also at their play. 

Little Jimmie Waitawhile was bright, and sturdy, too, 
But never ready to perform what he was asked to do ; 
" Wait just a minute," he would say, " I '11 do it pretty soon," 
And thinsrs he should have clone at morn were never done till noon- 

He put off studying until his boyhood days were gone ; 
He put off getting him a home till age came stealing on; 




He put oft" everything, and so his life was not a joy, 
And all because he waited "just a minute" while a boy. 

But little Johnnie Now would say, when he had work to do : 
" There 's no time like the present time," and gaily put it through. 
And when his time for play arrived he so enjoyed the fun ; 
His mind was not distressed with thoughts of duties left undone. 

In boyhood he was studious and laid him out a plan 
Of action to be followed when he grew to be a man ; 
And life was as he willed it all because he 'd not allow 
His tasks to be neglected, but would always do them "now." 

And so in every neighborhood are scores of little boys, 
Who by-and-by must work with tools when they have done with toys. 
And you know one of them, I guess, because I see you smile; 
And is he little Johnnie Now or Jimmie Waitawhile? 


Th.e « 

Oh, the happy catbird ! 
How joyful, how gay, 
His clear notes come warbling 
Down the airy way: 

Ringing, singing, singing, ringing, 

All the livelong day, 
Singing, ringing, ringing, singing, 
From the topmost spray. 

On the leafy summit 

Where the June winds play, 
Steeped in golden sunshine, 
His coat of Quaker gray : 

Swinging, clinging, clinging, swinging, 

All the livelong day, 
Clinging, swinging, swinging, clinging 
To the topmost spray. 



By Tames Otis. 


[Begun in the May number.} he threaded his way amid the obstacles before 

r, , r reaching Carrots's very retired residence. 

Chapter V. & .,..,.. 

" Old man," said Teeme, " this is ever so 

a suggestion. much nicer a place to live in than a reg'lar 

It could be understood that Teenie was a house." 

frequent visitor by the familiar manner in which "Yes," the host replied grimly; "specially 



when the nights are cold, or it rains. I s'pose 
you 'd rather have the water comin' in on you 
than not, when you 're asleep, would n't 

" Well, I did n't mean it jest that way," Tee- 
nie replied; " but when you get in here an' have 
the candle lighted, it allers seems mighty fine. 
I got mother to let me come down an' stay 
all night with you." 

" There ! that 's jest what I thought you was 
up to," Carrots said in rather a cross tone. 

" Why, what 's the matter ? Don't you want 
me ? " Teenie asked in surprise. 

" Of course I 'm glad to have you come, 
Teenie ; but I am busy to-night, an' talkin' 
with you is bound to upset things." 

" What are you doin' ? " 

" You see, I took the job of gettin' that fellow 
from Saranac out er the station-house ; an' it 's 
goin' to be a pretty hard one, I 'm 'fraid, as 
things are lookin' now. If I can get him clear 
of the scrape, you '11 see some fun one of these 
days, 'cause this thing ain't goin' to stop here, 
I '11 tell you that. I only wish I knew what 
ought ter be done." 

" How have you been tryin' to fix it ? " 

" Well, I 've talked with some of the fellows 
that saw the row, to get 'em to go down to 
court an' tell how it happened ; but they 're so 
terribly 'fraid of Skip they don't dare to say their 
souls are their own." 

" Well, I do," Teenie replied bravely. " I 
saw the whole of the scrap, 'cause I was there 
before it began." 

" Will you tell that when the chap 's brought 
inter court to-morrow mornin' ? " 

" Course I will, if you '11 stand by me in 
case Skip tries to come his funny business; 
'cause that 's what he says he 's goin' to do to 
anybody who helps the fellow from the country." 

" I '11 stand by you, Teenie, if that 's what 
you want ; an' if we do get Teddy clear, there '11 
be three of us. Skip won't dare to tackle as 
big a crowd as that." 

" No ; but you see the fellow ain't out, an' I 
can't figger how it 's goin' to be done." 

•' We '11 tell the judge jest what we saw." 

" I don't b'lieve we '11 get the chance. They 
would n't let you go anywhere near him, 'less 
you had a lawyer." 
Vol. XXII.— 94. 

" We 've got to fix it somehow." 

" Why not get a lawyer ? " 

" Now you 're goin' crazy, Teenie Massey. 
It costs as much as a dollar to get one of them 
fellows to go to court. They come high ! " 

" Don't you s'pose you could hire one, an' 
let him take it out in trade ? " 

" By jiminy ! I never thought of that. 1 
wonder if I could n't ? " 

" It would n't do any harm to try. I sell 
papers to a man that would come an' 'tend 
to the whole business, I guess, if you 'd 'gree 
to black his boots so many times a week." 

" I 'd 'gree to black him all over, if he 'd 
do what I want. Where does he hang out ? " 

" I '11 show you in the mornin'. Been to 
supper ? " 

" Yes ; had a little spread up to Delmonico's. 
It was n't much, an' charlotte roosters an' sich 
things as that ain't fillin', you know." 

" I kind er thought you might be hungry, so 
I got mother to do up a lunch." And Teenie 
drew from his pocket a small parcel of cold 
roast meat, adding to it from another pocket 
five boiled eggs. 

" Say, we '11 have a reg'lar lay-out, won't 
we ? " Carrots said, as he surveyed the food 
with the keenest pleasure. 

" Now I reckon you can kind er ease up on 
your business long enough to 'tend to this stuff, 
can't you ? " Teenie answered. 

" Well, I should say so ! You 're a brick, 
Teenie, an' I wish you 'd come every night." 

" Business would have to be pretty good if 
I was goin' to have such a spread as this right 
along. I 've been to supper, so you pitch in." 

" S'pose we put it away for a while ? It has n't 
been so long since I ate that lot o' quails, you 
know; an' 1 can hold on a spell, an' we '11 be 
hungry before we 're ready to go to sleep." 

Teenie was satisfied; and he reclined care- 
lessly in one corner of the packing-case home, 
enjoying himself to the utmost. 

Carrots followed his example, and soon the 
two were busily engaged discussing the prob- 
able outcome of Teddy's case, as well as the 
possibility of engaging a lawyer upon the con- 
dition of his being willing to accept the fee " in 

Not until a late hour was the lunch disposed 




of; and then, nestling into the straw, the two 
were ready for slumber. 

Owing to the peculiar location of his home, 
and the necessity of keeping his whereabouts a 
profound secret, Carrots was obliged to arise 
at a very early hour, in order to leave the resi- 
dence before any of the clerks in the shop 
should arrive. 

Therefore it was that the host and his guest 
were on the street shortly after sunrise. 

Of course it would have been folly to look 
for the attorney in his office at such an hour, 
and the possibility of doing any business before 
seven or eight o'clock was so slight that Car- 
rots, with the recklessness of a spendthrift, in- 
vited his friend to a breakfast at Mose Pear- 
son's, even though it involved an expenditure 
of fully one fifth of his entire wealth. 

" We '11 kind er need somethin' to brace us 
up," he said, in explanation of his generous in- 

As a matter of course, Master Massey was 
not proof against the kind hospitality, and so he 
very willingly followed his friend to Mr. Pear- 
son's establishment, which w r as located in the 
basement of a dwelling on Baxter street. 

When the boys, leisurely, and with the air of 
capitalists, sauntered out on the street once 
more, they looked thoroughly contented with the 
world in general, and themselves in particular. 

" We 'd better get up somewhere near the 
lawyer's office before that Skip Jellison comes 
'round," Teenie said. 

Carrots recognized the wisdom of this advice 
at once ; and the two, keeping a sharp lookout 
lest Master Jellison should spring upon them 
unawares, made their way to Centre street, 
where for an hour and a half they waited in the 
hallway of the building in which the lawyer with 
whom Teenie was acquainted had an office. 

On his arrival it was evident the gentleman 
did not recognize them as two possible clients, 
for he passed without even a nod to the boy 
who claimed to be his friend, entered the office, 
and closed the door behind him. 

" Why, he does n't even know you ! " Carrots 
exclaimed, in a tone of reproach. 

" Oh, yes, he does ; but you see it 's kind er 
dark in here, an' 1 s'pose he could n't see my 
face very well, or he did n't notice." 

" What are you goin' to do 'bout it ? " 

" Wait till he gets settled, an' then we '11 
go up an' call on him. You do the talkin', 
while I stand back an' 'gree to all you say." 

Now that they were where the scheme could 
be carried into execution, Carrots was by no 
means confident it would be a success, and ac- 
tually felt rather timid about making the at- 
tempt; but, urged on by Teenie, he finally 
mustered up courage to open the door of the 
office. He stood on the threshold, gazing first 
at the attorney and then back at his friend. 

" Well, what do you want ? " the gentleman 
asked, looking inquiringly at the boy. 

This question appeared to restore to Carrots 
a certain portion of his self-possession, and he 
entered the room, standing in the middle of the 
floor as he beckoned to his friend to follow. 

" What do you want ? " the lawyer asked 
again, impatiently. 

" Well, you see — I come — we want — " 

" Out with it. What did you come for ? " 

Teenie nudged his friend from behind, as a 
sign that he should speak up promptly; and 
Carrots, catching his breath much as one does 
after a plunge in cold water, began : 

" There 's a fellow what walked down from 
Saranac, that 's goin' to be took inter the Tombs 
court this mornin' for fightin' in City Hall Park, 
an' we 've come to see how much it would cost 
to hire you to git him out." 

" I might defend him, but I could n't agree 
to get him out. That depends on the judge." 

" Well, you could make the talk, an' I reckon 
when the thing 's put up right they '11 have to 
let him go, 'cause he did n't do anything." 

" Suppose you tell me the whole story, and I 
shall be better able to judge what they may be 
obliged to do." 

" It was jest like this : You see, Skip he come 
up an' hit Teddy in the jaw, and Teddy tried 
to hit back. Skip let out with a left-hander; 
Teddy warded it off. Then Skip jumped; down 
went the papers. Skip got frightened of a cop; 
he started to run, Teddy after him, an' Teddy 
was 'rested, and that 's all there is 'bout it." 

" That may be the whole of the story ; but I 
must confess I don't understand it yet." 

" Why, it 's plain enough. You see, Skip he 
struck out, an' Teddy warded it off — " 



" Now wait a moment. Tell me which boy 
is arrested." 

" Why, Teddy, of course. You don't s'pose 
we 'd come here if it had been Skip ? I wish 
it was. He 'd stay there a good while, for all 

" Who is this Teddy ? " 

" He 's a fellow what walked down from Sara- 
nac, an' got here yesterday mornin' ; but jest as 
he was goin' to sell papers up jumped Skip, 
'cause he thinks he owns the whole town, 
an' 'lowed he was goin' to clean Teddy right 
out. Now, I never did think Skip could fight 
any great deal, 'cause how was it when he was 
over to Brooklyn, an' that fellow tackled him ? " 

" Try to tell me the story as I want to hear 
it. You say Teddy was arrested ? " 

" Why, it 's worse 'n that ! He 's in the sta- 
tion-house ! " 

" Certainly ; if he is arrested. On what charge 
was he taken ? " 

" Eh ? " 

" I mean why did the officer take him ? " 

"Why? 'Cause the park policeman said he 
was fightin' ; but he was n't. He was only 
beginnin'. He might uv licked Skip, too, if 
they 'd let him alone. I know by the way he 
put up his hands." 

" Then it seems, according to your story, 
that he really was fighting." 

" How could he, when he had n't even com- 
menced ? Skip hit him, an' knocked the pa- 
pers out er his hands, an' then he was goin' to 
lick Skip, but did n't have time." 

The attorney was a patient man, and possibly 
the boy's manner of telling the story amused 
him; therefore he continued asking questions, 
preventing any detailed account of previous 
quarrels which Skip might have had, until he 
was in possession of all the important facts, 
when he asked : 

" Do you know what a lawyer usually charges 
for such a case as this ? " 

" Now you 're comin' right down to dots ! " 
Carrots said, beginning to feel more at ease 
since the attorney treated him in such a friendly 
fashion. " You see, this fellow has n't got any 
money, an' I don't claim to be a millionaire 
myself. I know lawyers charge a good deal 
for doin' a little o' nothing; but I thought if 

you 'd kind er take it out in trade, we might 
make a bargain." 

" What business are you in ? " 

" I shine boots ; an' if you '11 get this fellow 
out er the scrape, I '11 come in here an' black 
your boots every mornin' this year, for nothin'. 
You can't make a better trade 'n that if you 
should look 'round a good while." 

" That is quite a contract you are proposing." 

" I know it; but you see I want ter make it 
an object for you to get Teddy out." 

" That can be done only in the proper man- 
ner. The question is whether you have any 
witnesses to prove that this boy was not really 
fighting, and that he had sufficient provocation 
to excuse his trying to thrash the other one." 

" Sufficient what ? " 

" Provocation. That is, whether what had 
been done was enough to warrant an attempt 
to whip this other boy; for, as I understand it, 
that is really what he did try to do." 

" Why, of course ; he had to. How 'd you 
like it if a fellow sneaked up an' whacked you in 
the face when you was n't doin' anything, an' 
knocked your papers in the mud ? " 

" It would n't be very pleasant, I '11 admit; 
but how can you prove that such was the case ? 
Who saw the beginning of the trouble ? " 

" I did, an' Teenie, an' lots of other fellows ; 
but they would n't dare to tell it for fear Skip 
might thump 'em. He calls hisself a fighter." 

" Then you two are willing to run the risk, 
and tell your story in court, are you ? " 

" Of course we are ; but will you go an' get 
him out ? " 

" Suppose I should take this case, and spend 
an hour or two on it, how do I know you would 
come here each morning to black my boots, as 
you propose ? " 

" How do you know ? Why, ain't Teenie 
here, an' don't he hear what I say ? That 's 
enough to make a trade if you 've got a wit- 
ness, ain't it ? " 

"Yes, I suppose it is," the lawyer replied, 
laughingly. " I don't see any other way for me 
but to take the case. Go to the Tombs, and 
wait there until I come." 

" You '11 be sure to be on hand before they 
bring him down, eh ? " 

" I won't neglect it." 

74 8 


With this assurance the boys left the office, 
and, once on the outside, Carrots said to his 
friend in a tone of relief: 

" Well, now that 's fixed, an' I guess we 
need n't bother any more 'bout Teddy's gettin' 
out ; but there '11 be an awful row when Skip 
hears what we 've done, an' you an' I 've got to 
stand right 'longside of each other if he tries any 
funny business. We must look out for him." 

This suggestion that they would stand to- 
gether against Teddy's enemy was far from 
displeasing to Master Massey. 

In the seclusion of the packing-case home he 
could talk boldly about what Skip might yet be 
able to do; but once on the street, where it was 
possible to meet the bully at any moment, the 
matter assumed a different aspect, and he began 
to realize the danger in which he had thus vol- 
untarily placed himself. 

" It won't do for us to hang 'round here, 
'cause he 's likely to come any minute," Teenie 
said in a tremulous tone. " I think we 'd bet- 
ter go down to the Tombs, an' then we '11 be on 
hand when the lawyer wants us." 

This was a very good idea, and Carrots led 
the way at a rapid pace, both taking heed lest 
they should accidentally meet Skip. 

Chapter VI. 


Carrots and Teenie succeeded in reaching 
the Tombs without being intercepted by Skip; 
and once there, they were unable to determine 
whether the court was in session. 

In the vicinity of the judge's desk a number 
of men were standing, apparently talking on 
different subjects, and in the seats reserved for 
the spectators a few unfortunate-looking persons 

" Well, the fellow ain't been brought in yet, 
that 's certain," Carrots said, gazing around the 
room in a vain search for his new acquaintance. 

" Do you s'pose they will put handcuffs on 
him?" Teenie asked in a • tone of awe. "I 
reckon he 'd be jest about crazy if they 'd send 
him up to the Island." 

" It would start 'most anybody up to take a 
dose like that; but of course it won't happen 
now we 've got the lawyer. I tell you he '11 

be s'prised to see how we 've fixed things, 
won't he ? " 

" Indeed he will; an' Skip '11 be hoppin' mad 
when he knows. We want ter keep pretty 
close together while we 're workin' this." 

The conversation was interrupted by the en- 
trance of the sergeant who had been seen at 
the station-house, and Carrots went swiftly 
toward him, asking, as he halted in front of the 
officer : 

"Did you bring that fellow down yet?" 

" He will come in the van with the rest of 
the prisoners." 

" You won't forget that you promised to try 
an' fix it ? " 

" I said I would see that the officer was n't 
hard on him. I can't fix anything. Have 
you got your witnesses here ? " 

" Yes ; Teenie 's one, an' I 'm another, an' 
we 've hired a reg'lar lawyer." 

"You have? Who?" 

" A man by the name of Varney." 

" Well, if he is coming I reckon you will be 
all right, unless you have a bad case; and from 
what the roundsman told me the fighting 
did n't amount to much." 

" There was n't any of it ! You see, Skip he 
give Teddy one in the face, an' then sent in a 
left-hander, an' Teddy he — " 

" Never mind the story. I don't want to 
hear it, for I have n't the time," the officer said 
as he started toward the judge's bench. 

Half an hour elapsed, and then the boys sud- 
denly saw their new friend within a sort of iron 
cage at one end of the room. 

" There he is ! " Teenie whispered excitedly. 
" How do you s'pose he got in without our 
seein' him ? " 

Carrots stood erect and gazed at the prisoner 
a moment, as if debating whether to approach 
him or not. 

Teddy presented a most forlorn appearance, 
standing aloof from the other prisoners as far 
as possible, and clinging to the iron bars, his 
usually clean face begrimed with dirt, through 
which the flowing tears had plowed tiny canals 
until he looked not unlike a small-sized Indian 
in war-paint. 

This picture of sorrow made a deep impres- 
sion on Carrots's tender heart, and, regardless 




of whether he might be able to regain his seat, 
he marched toward the prisoners' cage. 

Teddy had seen him coming, and stepped 
forward in the hope of speaking with this boy 
who had proved himself to be a real friend ; 
but before a single word could be uttered, the 
officer interrupted the visitor by saying roughly: 

" Get back there ! " 

" But I 've got to talk with that fellow." 

" Get back there ! Do you hear what I tell 
you ? " and he made a threatening gesture 
which was not at all terrifying to the self-pos- 
sessed Carrots. 

" I 've got to talk with this fellow ; 
he 's a friend of mine, an' I ain't 
seen him since last night. He 's 
goin' to get right out, too, 
'cause he did n't do any- 
thing, an' would n't 
have been brought 
here if he 'dhad 
sense enough 
to run when 
they hollered 
'Cops! ' It was 
jest this way : 
Skip he struck 
out an' hit him 
in the face, an' 
then come in 
with a left- 
hander — " 

Carrots had 
been advanc- 
ing, and at this 
point the offi- 
cer seized him '" IT WAS JEST L,KF - 
by one shoulder, spinning him around until he 
was heading in the direction from which he 
had come. 

" If you make any attempt to speak to that 
boy, I '11 put you in with him ! What are you 
doing here, anyhow ? Are you a witness ? " 

" Course I am. What else do you s'pose ? 
Why, I 've got to tell the judge all 'bout how 
this thing happened. You see, I was right 
there, an' when Skip come in with a left-hander, 
an' Teddy he warded it off — " 

Carrots did not finish the sentence, for the 

officer gave him a push which might have 
thrown him headlong but for the fact that 
Teenie chanced to be in the way, and thus 
prevented the fall. 

" I guess we 'd better get back to the settee," 
Carrots said, looking at the officer an instant, 
as if to make out whether the latter was really 
in earnest in this last movement. 

Carrots was whispering to Teenie his opinion 
of the officer in charge of the prisoners when 
the lawyer arrived; and then for the first time 


did Teddy's friends learn that court had been 
in session all the while since they entered. 

It was a positive relief to see the attorney; 
and, lest the latter should think those who 
employed him had not followed the directions 
given, Carrots made his presence known by 
going up to the -gentleman in the most con- 
fidential manner, and announcing cheerfully : 
"We 're here." 

"Yes, I see you are. Sit down. I '11 call 
you when you 're wanted." 

" But are you sure you remember what I told 




you 'bout how it happened ? You don't want 
to forget that Skip jumped in an' hit Teddy in 
the face, and then come in with a left — " 

" You shall be asked to tell that story, my 
boy, presently ; but just now I don't care to 
hear it, and have n't the time. Sit down until 
your name is called." 

" I 'm 'fraid that lawyer don't 'mount to 
much," Carrots whispered to Teenie as he 
obeyed the gentleman's command. " It seems 
like he 's puttin' on a good many airs, an' don't 
want ter listen to how the thing happened. Now 
I don't b'lieve any man can fix it with the judge, 
'less he 's got the whole thing down fine." 

" The sergeant said he was all right, an' he 
ought ter know ; so I reckon we can 'ford to 
wait," Teenie replied contentedly. 

It seemed to the impatient Carrots as if it 
must have been nearly noon when he heard the 
clerk call the name " Theodore Thurston"; and 
an instant later the young prisoner from Saranac 
was conducted to the dock. 

Almost at the same moment Skip Jellison, 
accompanied by several of his most intimate 
friends, entered the room, and immediately be- 
came aware that Carrots and Teenie were in 

Without hesitation, and as if such scenes 
were perfectly familiar to him, Master Skip 
approached Teddy's friends in an easy, careless 
fashion, as he asked : 

" What are you two doin' here ? " 

" Came down to see how the new fellow gets 
along. Don't s'pose you 've got any 'bjections, 
have you ? " Carrots replied. 

" I don't know whether I have or not." 

" Well, after you find out jest give me the 
word, 'cause we 're bound to dust whenever 
you give us the tip." 

It was evident to Master Jellison that Car- 
rots was speaking sarcastically, and he took 
no further notice of this insolence, save to say 
warningly : 

" You want to mind your eye, that 's all ! The 
fellow what tries to help that chump along is 
goin' to get inter trouble." 

" Same 's you did over to Brooklyn the other 
day, eh ? " Carrots asked coolly. 

" Wait till I catch you outside, an' we '11 
see if you 've got anything more to say 'bout 

Brooklyn ! " And with this threat Master Jelli- 
son and his friends advanced to a settee nearer 
the judge, where they seated themselves with a 
great show of what was probably intended to 
be dignity. 

" He 's come to see if we 're goin' to tell 
anything 'bout the row," Teenie whispered ; 
and it could plainly be seen that Master 
Massey was very much frightened regarding 
the probable outcome of thus attempting to aid 
the stranger. 

At that moment Carrots was startled out of 
his self-possession — although he had come 
especially as a witness — by hearing his name 
called in a loud tone. 

Three times the clerk shouted " Joseph Wil- 
liams," and then Carrots exclaimed : 

" By jiminy ! he means me, does n't he ? " 

" Of course he does. Go 'long quick, or else 
that feller '11 be up on the Island before they 
know you 're here," said Teenie. 

It was necessary the witness should pass Skip 
Jellison on his way to the stand; and in so do- 
ing he saw Teddy's enemy scowl and shake his 
fist in the most threatening manner. 

" Don't get excited," Carrots stopped long 
enough to say. " You 're comin' out of it all 
right, even if you don't feel very good now." 

Then he continued on until some one directed 
him which way to go; and for the first time 
in his life he laid his hand on a Bible, and swore 
to tell " the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth." 

If, as is extremely probable, Skip had come 
for the purpose of hearing what was said, he 
was disappointed, as are nearly all the visitors 
to the Tombs court, where it is an impossibility 
for one on the spectators' benches to distin- 
guish any remark made either by the judge or 
the witness, unless the latter chances to have a 
particularly clear voice. 

Those inside the railing, however, could un- 
derstand quite distinctly all that was said ; and, 
judging from their mirth, Carrots's examination 
must have been to them an amusing one. 

On being asked his name, the witness replied, 
"Carrots"; and then the judge glowered down 
upon him until he realized that he had pre- 
viously answered to that of " Joseph Williams." 

After having made the proper correction, 




and before it was possible for any one to ask 
him a question, Carrots leaned toward the 
magistrate in a confidential and friendly man- 
ner, as he began : 

" You see, Judge, it was jest like this : Skip 
he jumped in an' hit Teddy one in the face, an' 
then come back with a left-hander ; but Teddy 
warded it off, an' then — " 

" Stop ! " the judge cried severely. " When 
I want you to tell the story I will ask for it. 
Did you see this boy fighting in the park ? " 

" He was n't fightin' at all. He did n't have 
time, for the park policeman caught him. You 
see, it was jest this way: Skip he jumped in an' 
smashed Teddy in the face, an' then come with 
a left-hander — " 

Again was the witness interrupted; and this 
time Mr. Varney stepped forward to where he 
could say in a low tone to Carrots : 

" You must simply answer the judge's ques- 
tions — not attempt to tell the story yourself." 

" Yes, sir; but how '11 he know what 's what 
if I don't give him the whole right through ? " 
Carrots asked in a hoarse whisper. 

" Attend to what he says, and don't try to 
tell anything else." 

" What was this boy doing when the police- 
man arrested him ? " the judge asked, as he 
looked sternly at the witness. 

" He was n't doin' nothin', 'cause he did n't 
have time. You see, Skip run as soon as he 
hit him, an' knocked his papers down, an' 
then — " 

" Did the prisoner go in pursuit of the boy 
whom you call Skip ? " 

" Course he did ; 'cause, you see, Skip 
knocked his papers in the mud, an' hit him 
once in the face ; an' he would have come in 
with a left-hander, if Teddy had n't warded 
it off." 

" What was the prisoner doing when this boy 
struck him ? " 

" He was sellin' a paper to a man in a horse- 
car. You see, Skip he 'lowed that Teddy 
could n't run the business in New York ; but 
Teddy he walked 'way down from Saranac jest 
to get a livin', an' Skip don't have any right to 
tell fellows whether they 're to work or not." 

" Had the prisoner said anything to this boy 
who struck him ? " 

" No ; you see, he did n't have time. Skip 
jumped right in an' hit him once in the face, 
an' — " 

" Now, don't tell that story again. Had there 
been any quarrel between these two? " 

"No, sir; you see, Teddy did n't come in 
town till this mornin', an' he never knew Skip 
from a side of sole-leather." 

" Is he a friend of yours ? " 

" Well, I s'pose he is," Carrots replied hesi- 
tatingly. " You see, when he got inter the 
trouble, somebody had to help him out, an' 
there did n't seem to be anybody willin' but 
me. He ought ter be my friend if I 'm goin' to 
black the lawyer's boots a whole year jest to 
pay for this racket." 

" If your honor will allow me, I will tell the 
story as I have managed to extract it — I use 
the word ' extract ' advisedly — from this wit- 
ness and his friend," the lawyer said, as he ad- 
vanced a few paces amid the smiles of all those 
near the bench. 

" Do you wish to explain about your fee ? " 
the judge asked laughingly. 

" Perhaps that is hardly necessary, since law- 
yers are seldom known to refuse anything of- 
fered in the way of payment. That was the 
proposition made by the witness and witnessed 
by his friend." 

Then the attorney related what had occurred 
in his office, to the no slight amusement of 
those who could hear him; and when he con- 
cluded, the judge turned to Carrots again, 
looking very much more friendly than before. 

" Then you assure me on your oath that the 
prisoner did not fight with the other boy in 
City Hall Park?" 

" Why, no ; how could he ? He did n't 
get the chance. You see, Skip hit him in 
the face, an' then come in with a left-hander; 
but Teddy warded it off, and then Skip run. 
The policeman grabbed Teddy too quick, you 
see. I reckon he 'd have paid Skip off in great 
shape, 'cause I b'lieve he can do it." 

" Then you admit that he would have fought 
if he had had the opportunity ? " 

" Of course he would ! S'posin' a fellow 
smashed you in the neck, an' knocked your 
papers in the mud, would n't you fight ? I 
guess you would ! " 



" I will do the questioning, and you can 
confine yourself to answering," said the judge. 

" That 's all I was doin', sir," Carrots replied, 
a trifle abashed by the change which came 
over the judge's face at his free manner of 

Then it seemed as if the witness was entirely 
forgotten. Nobody paid the slightest attention 
to him until fully five minutes later, when the 
lawyer beckoned for him to come down from 
the stand to where he was speaking in a low 
tone with Teddy. 

" You can go now," the gentleman said; 
" and I shall be curious to learn how long you 
will keep the promise made in regard to black- 
ing my boots." 

" Well, what are you goin' to do with 
Teddy ? " Carrots asked, a look of disappoint- 
ment coming over his face as he fancied that 
the prisoner was not to be set free. 

" He has been discharged. It is all right 
now. Go out with him, and be careful not to 
get into any more trouble on the street, for it 
might go hard with you if either came here the 
second time." 

" He 's discharged — did you say?" Carrots 
repeated. " Does that mean he can go anywhere 
he wants to ? " 

" Certainly." 

" Well, you 're a dandy ! I '11 live right up 
to the 'greement I made, an' don't you forget 
it ! " Carrots replied enthusiastically, and then, 
as the lawyer turned away, presumably to at- 
tend to his own business, the amateur Good 
Samaritan led Teddy from the room, closely 
followed by Teenie, who said, when they were 
once more on the outside of the building : 

" It won't do to loaf 'round here. Skip Jelli- 
son an' his gang were jest gettin' up when I 
come out. They '11 be after us if we don't dust 
'mighty lively." 

" Let 's go down by the ferry, where we can 

kind er straighten things, an' see what we 're 
goin' to do," Carrots suggested. 

Teddy was not disposed to run from the en- 
emy ; but his companions insisted it would be 
more than foolish to risk an encounter, and he 
allowed himself to be led away at a rapid 

" Why not go over to your house, Car- 
rots ? " Teenie asked. " They '11 never find us 

" I could n't get in without somebody's see- 
in' me, an' I don't want to give the snap away, 
else the whole thing will be broke up. We 
can do all the chinnin' we want ter 'round the 

" Seems to me I ought ter go to work. I can't 
'ford to fool so much time away now, after 
I 've been kept still so long," Teddy said 
gravely. " I came here countin' on makin' 
money enough every day to live on, an' began 
by losin' my stock the first thing." 

" You ain't lost it yet. I sold every one of 
your papers, an' have got the money in my 
pocket to give you." 

"You 're a mighty good fellow, Carrots; an' 
if ever I can do anything to help you, I '11 be 
glad of the chance." 

" All I ask is that you stand 'longside of me 
when Skip an' his crowd come 'round, 'cause 
I '11 need a friend pretty bad then." 

" He sha'n't touch you when I 'm near ; but 
I don't see how it 's goin' to be stopped, if they 
'rest fellows for fightin' in the city," Teddy re- 
plied in a tone of perplexity ; and straightway 
the three were plunged into a maze of bewil- 
derment that the law should interfere by ar- 
resting a fellow when he attempted to defend 
himself, and allow the beginner of the trouble 
to go free. 

It seemed to be one of those tangles in the 
web woven by Justice which older heads than 
theirs have failed to unravel. 

( To be continued. ) 

By Tudor Jenks. 

There was once a prosperous little town 
that grew up in a valley shut in by high moun- 
tains. A road entered the valley by a narrow 
rocky pass at one end, ran through the town, 
making the chief street, and then climbed the 
mountains and led out of the valley again. 
There was no way through the valley except 
by this road. 

As the road was a highway between two 
large cities, the valley town became a conve- 
nient resting-place for traders and travelers, and 
profited by their custom. 

Far up on one of the mountains overhanging 
the valley lived a colony of dragons. They 
were very timid creatures, and, remaining amid 
the rocky heights of their home, were never 
seen by men. Indeed, the inhabitants of the 
valley would have said there were no such 
Vol. XXII.— 95. ; 

creatures in existence. But as the dragons 
were not disturbed they increased in numbers, 
and soon found it a difficult matter to secure 
food. Then the stronger dragons drove their 
weaker fellows away from their native places, 
compelling them to seek a living elsewhere. 

One young dragon happened at last to sta- 
tion himself in one of the passes that led into 
the valley where the town was situated ; and, 
being tired by his long crawl, the dragon lay 
down in the highway to rest. 

Soon there came a party of traders, on foot 
and horseback, making their way toward the 
town, where they expected to rest that night. 
While jogging along quietly, talking about the 
equator, suddenly they found themselves face 
to face with the young dragon. 

There were seven travelers, and they gave 



seven different sorts of yell, threw down their 
bundles, and took to their own or their horses' 
heels, without arranging where to meet again. 

Now it happened, the dragon being greenish 
in hue, that he had not been seen until the party 
of traders was just opposite; and consequently 
the fleeing traders separated into two parties. 
Four of them ran back toward the city they had 
left that morning, and three went helter-skelter 
down into the valley town. 

As for the dragon, he was more scared than 
anybody ; and he tried to run away too. But, 
being in too much of a hurry to climb either 
side of the pass, he ran first after one party, and 
then after the other. 
Finding men in both di- 
rections, he returned and * 
howled dismally, j^ "AgY?" 

But when the 
poor thing's terror 
had worn itself 
out, he began 
to nose about 
among those 



packages the travelers had thrown away. He 
found several packages of raisins, three or four 
hams, some salted fish, and a small keg of 
ginger. He was very hungry, and devoured all 

this food without thinking of his digestion, and 
soon after sank into an unquiet slumber. 

Meanwhile the seven travelers were relating 
to the citizens and villagers the awful adventure 
that had befallen them in the pass. The seven 
travelers told seven different stories, and their 
listeners, in carrying the report to their neigh- 
bors, freely invented whatever small details 
each found necessary. So by nightfall nearly 
every household had scared itself out of its 
seven senses with a mixture of a little fact and a 
great deal of guessing. By midnight both town 
and city were either dozing uneasily or were 
staring wide awake with ears pricked up. 

And by midnight that 
unhappy dragon was 
wide awake, too, and 
struggling with a severe 
internal pain. As his 
diet until then had been 
mainly mountain herbs 
and spring water, it is 
not surprising that the 
miscellaneous bill of fare 
he had just eaten should 
disagree with him. 

The dragon did not 
understand what was the 
trouble, but he soon be- 
gan to yell and roar and 
whine and grumble. 

Down in the valley 
below these noises rose 
upon the night air with 
a soul-freezing effect, and 
those citizens who had 
first said "Pooh!" or 
" Pshaw — nonsense ! " 
were scared out of their 
seven wits. 

The next day the 
Mayor summoned the 
town-council, and held a 
meeting behind locked 
doors. The councilmen 
were staid, respectable 
merchants, but they came into the Town Hall 
shaking in their shoes. 

" Gentlemen," said the Mayor, " an un- 
founded rumor has come to our ears — " 




Just then 
a wild shriek was 
heard faintly in the 
distance, and the Mayor 
stopped short, turned pale, 
and remained silent until 
the echoes died away. Then he began again : 

" Gentlemen — this most extraordinary oc- 
currence, of which no doubt — " here a second 
wail of distress made him catch his breath ; and 
the Mayor abruptly concluded, " How are we 
to get rid of this frightful creature ? " 

After a few moments one of the council rose 
and remarked as follows : 

" There is no danger, I have understood, so 
long as the dragon is well fed. If the beast is 
made desperate by hunger, he may be tempted 
to descend into the town, and who can tell — " 
a third yell rose, swelled to a shriek, and died 
away — "who can tell, I say, what awful 
things he may do ? " 

" What can be done ? " asked the Mayor. 

" I advise that we send the militia with a 
store of provisions, and let them deposit these 
in the road, so the monster may not approach." 


Since no other plan was 
proposed, a vote was taken, 
and the measure was adopted 

The militia grumbled, but 
they had to go. Armed to 
the teeth, they started up to- 
ward the pass, accompanied 
by two very heavily loaded 
wagons containing a choice selection of provi- 
sions. As the dragon was now feeling less dis- 
turbed, his complaints had ceased ; and the 
militia gained in courage as they advanced. 
They saw no signs of the dragon, and began to 
believe he had fled. But when they had come 
near enough to see the traders' baggage torn to 
bits, they lost courage at once, and, wheeling to 
the right-about, began a return march that 
soon became a retreat, then turned into a rout, 
and ended in a panic. They arrived in town 
in single file : the best runner first, the second 
next, and so on down to the drummer-boy, a 
little fellow who could n't get up much speed, 
and who ran only because the rest did. 

As the wagons had been cut loose and left 
in the road, it was not long before the dragon 
discovered them. When his appetite returned, 
he examined the contents of the two wagons, 



helped himself freely, and, before many hours 
had passed, was again in trouble with himself, 
and again confiding his troubles to the moun- 
tain echoes. 

When the dragon's roaring was heard for the 
second time, the Mayor, without 
waiting to convene his advisers, 
sent a second supply of food. 

This time the soldiers did n't 
go further than was neces- 
sary to see the other 
wagons. Consequent- 
ly the dragon, gain- 
ing in courage 
and confidence, s - . 
came nearer to 
the town, and 
made a third 

This time, the 
drummer - boy, 
who was a 
brave little fel- 
low after all, 
became rather 
curious about 
the dragon. In- 
stead of running 
away, therefore, 
he waited until 
the rest of the 
troop were out 
of sight, and 
then climbed a 

For a while nothing 
happened ; and the drummer- 
boy began even to get sleepy ; but 
just about twilight the boy heard the rattling 
and crackling of the dragon's scales. He 
peered out through the leaves and soon saw 
the dragon cautiously crawling down the road 
toward the wagons. The boy was so startled 
by the sight that he gave a violent jump, and 
thereby knocked his drum out of its resting- 
place in the tree. 

Whack-bang — rattlety — bang/ the drum fell 
through the branches to the ground. And at 
the noise the timid dragon went scuttling away 
up the road like a frightened mouse. 


the sort 


%P *& 

" Oho ! " cried the boy. " So that 
of a creature you are, Mr. Dragon! " 

Climbing leisurely down, the drummer-boy 
picked up his drum, slung it over his shoulder, 
and returned to the town, laughing quietly to 

But when, the next day, the dragon made a 

new disturbance, he was so much nearer 

town that there was consternation 

among the citizens. They ran to the 

To"\vn Hall in throngs, and insisted 

that measures be taken 

either to destroy the 

monster or to protect 

the town from his 

nearer approach. 

After a stormy meet- 
ing at the Town Hall, 
the town-crier appear- 
and read a proc- 
lamation from the 
Mayor offering a rich 
reward to whoever 
could " devise, in- 
vent, or con- 
trive " some ef- 
fective "means, 
plan, or con- 
trivance " that 
would now, 
" hence- 
forth and 
for ever- 
more" and 
" without 
fail put an 
end to and 
abate " the 
" said pub- 
lic menace, 
enemy, and 

threat to the prosperity and welfare of the mu- 

The proclamation, in fact, wound up by 
promising to grant any request that might be 
made by the lucky man who should succeed in 
overcoming or getting rid of the dragon. 

No sooner was the proclamation read, than 
the drummer-boy darted out from the crier's 
audience and sped away home as fast as he 





could go. For the drummer-boy had a big 
brother, and the Mayor had a daughter, and 
the big brother was in love with the Mayor's 
daughter, who was a lovely and accomplished 
young lady. But the Mayor had " frowned 
upon " the big brother's " suit," because the 
young man was only a lieutenant of dragoons, 
instead of a brigadier-general glittering with 
gold lace, with epaulets, and other trimmings. 

The drummer-boy hastened home and ran 
up to his brother's room. The big brother was 
trying to write verses, and making himself sad- 
der because the verses were not proving all 
that he tried to make them. And the drummer- 
boy rushed in, and forgot to knock at the door, 
and began to tell his big brother all about the 
Mayor and the proclamation, and the dragon, 
and the drum falling out of the tree, and the 
dragon's running away, until the big brother 
was entirely bewildere'd. 

But after a while the drummer-boy succeeded 
in telling his story, and the big brother suc- 
ceeded in understanding 
it. And then both put 
on their best hats, and 
ran oft" to the Mayor's 
house. They rang the 
bell hard, were admitted, 
and the lieutenant offered 
to rid the town of the 
dragon upon condition 
that the Mayor would 
promise him his chosen 
bride. The Mayor was 
not at all impressed; but 
he made up his mind 
that either the young lieu- 
tenant of dragoons would 
succeed in driving off the 
dragon, or else that the 
dragon would take care 
that he was no more 
bothered by the lieuten- 
ant. So he agreed to 
the plan, put his promise 
in writing, sealed it with 
his signet-ring, and dis- 
missed the two brothers 
with a feeling of relief. 

Next day the lieuten- 

ant and the drummer-boy set forth for the pass. 
They were armed only with a few giant fire- 
crackers and a supply of matches. 

When they reached the pass, the dragon, 
who had learned to expect food when he saw 
uniforms approaching, came smilingly forward 
to meet them. The big brother was a little ner- 
vous, perhaps ; and so, when the dragon came 
within about a hundred yards, he lighted one 
of the cannon-crackers, and flung it toward the 

Now, the dragon expected food ; and when 
he saw the attractive red-paper covering of the 
cracker, he rushed forward, and caught it eag- 
erly in his mouth. The dragon tried to bite 
the cracker in two ; but there was no need of 
that — the giant cracker came to pieces without 
any assistance, and the dragon was frightened 
almost to death by the noise of the explosion 
and the terrific concussion. He started to run 
away up the pass. But the drummer-boy had 
meanwhile lighted another fire-cracker ; and 



this was thrown so cleverly that it exploded 
just in front of the fleeing dragon. 

Then, with an awful shriek, the dragon turned 
and went climbing up over the 
rocks. But before he could get 
away, the lieutenant was after 
him ; and, overtaking the scared 
reptile, he seized him by the tail. 

The dragon fainted from terror. 

Convinced now that the dragon 
was an arrant coward, the lieu- 
tenant and the drummer-boy cut 
two stout sticks, and when the 
dragon had recovered his senses 


they drove him through the town and into their 

back yard. 

So it all ended happily. The dragon was fed 
upon oatmeal and rice-pudding 
until he was quite amiable. The 
lieutenant married the Mayor's 
daughter, and was made Genera- 
lissimo and Commander-in-chief 
of all the forces, and the drummer- 
boy was appointed Drum-major 
for life, with a pension for old age. 
And I must say that I wish all 
stories turned out as satisfactor- 
ily for all concerned. 

"drum-major for life." 


By W. C. McClelland. 

This is the letter that goes to John, 
Who lives in the street where the roar 

roars on, 
And never stops when the day grows dim, — 
This is the letter that goes to him. 

It comes from Acheson Avenue, 

Where the trees are many and houses few; 

Where the bird's food hangs on the old 

And tickles the tongue of the chickadee; 
Where the little, chirruping, saucy wren 
Bustles about like a clucking hen ; 
Where kinglets caper and jump like clowns, 
With gleaming ruby and golden crowns! 

When the wind that blows from the cold 

North Pole 
Has crept away into some deep hole, 
Do you come out to the avenue, 
Where the trees are many and houses few; 

And we '11 watch the sailor birds, brave and slim, 
From the tops of the pear-trees dive and 

swim ! 
And we '11 feed the squirrel, as you shall see, 
Whose home is a hole by the willow-tree ; 
And I '11 tell you a tale of a big black bear, — 
It 's a finer tale than the rabbits wear ! 
Then there '11 be a pie for you and me, 
That will make us hop like a chickadee. 
But to tell all the things that we may try 
Would fill an envelop three feet high ! 

'■ Now, if you don't think that this is true, 
Just ask Miss Mary and Margaret, too, 
And your father and mother, and — then 

take breath, 
And then you may question Elizabeth. 
So this is your letter, fresh from the mill, 
And it comes direct from 

your Uncle Will." 



Vcuvcl o. \he-&p to ke-r cKilcL, /^Vy cLc/ctv p^u-tl-^, 
QuloK procifcul ctle. Hcxcte, i^ u,ncou,tlT,. 
vVh-C'tt- you- Oorrao dowri ex ctcttt* 
\JL <<z> more- Ca.x_xtior2. cxa-zcL Co.r*e., 
lArtcl r-e-etrcutra tki<^ ■wild 
impulse/ of yoU-lb. 





By ElbridCtE S. Brooks. 

[Begun in the November number.\ 

Chapter XVII. 


To the brother and sister, thus theatrically 
made known to one another, the revelation was 
overwhelming. Philip turned white with sur- 
prise. Mademoiselle flushed deeply, then paled 
as swiftly, and looked with an almost piteous 
expression upon the man she had always re- 
garded as her father. 

Then came the reaction from bewilderment 
to joy. 

" Is it so ? " cried Philip. 

"What?— it is Philip?" exclaimed Made- 

And then brother and sister fell into each 

other's arms. Citizen Daunou's eyes were filled 
with tears. Uncle Fauriel tossed his chapeau 
in air. Corporal Peyrolles danced on his one 
good leg, for joy. Pierre looked on with the air 
of one who had been in the secret all along, 
and actually contemplated one of the old-time 
hand-springs of his street-boy days. The Em- 
peror walked swiftly to Citizen Daunou and 
clapped that staid old republican on the back. 

" Daunou, is this your work ? " he cried. 
" It is great. You have exceeded my expecta- 
tions." But Citizen Daunou was just, even in 
his excitement: he simply shook his head, and 
war ed his hand toward Pierre. 

Philip and Mademoiselle, still hand in hand, 
looked into each other's- eyes, laughing and 
crying in the same moment. For them the 




fate of nations, the importance of that historic 
day, the clouds of war, the peace of Europe, 
were all forgotten. In all the world there was 
no one just then but Philip and Lucie. They 
had found what neither knew, what neither 
dreamed of. 

"I cannot believe it, Philip; can you — can 
you ? " cooed the happy girl. 

" My sister, my sister, my sister ! " the boy 
repeated, lingering lovingly over each word. 
"Tell us, tell us, my friend," he said, turning 
to Citizen Daunou ; " what does all this mean ? 
I know it is the truth, but — how did you find 
it out ? " 

Then the Emperor broke in : " You shall have 
time for explanations — you two — you three," 
he said. " Look you, Lieutenant Desnouettes," 
he said, emphasizing, to Philip's delight, the 
rank thus conferred upon him, " I grant you 
an unlimited leave of absence. Go home with 
your sister. When I need you I will summon 
you to my side. No ; no words. I know your 
willingness to serve me. This is my will. Be 
happy, my children, for a brief season. I am 
no monster to separate a new-found family — 
though some do deem me so," he added, with 
a slap this time on the fat shoulders of Uncle 
Fauriel. " Take them home with you, Citizen 
Daunou. When Philip sees me again, he can 
tell me all that he has learned. My friend the 
Inspector," — this to the delighted Pierre, — " I 
am proud of you. Some day you will be a 
minister of police. Adieu, my children ! " he 
said, placing a hand affectionately on the heads 
of Philip and Mademoiselle. " My horse, Con- 
stant ! " he cried to his valet. Then, vaulting to 
his saddle, he commanded : " Forward, gentle- 
men ; to Prussia and victory ! " 

" Long live the Emperor ! " rose the shout. 
The trumpets sounded; the drums rolled; the 
escort wheeled into line ; the green coat and 
the little chapeau disappeared in the distance, 
as out of the court of the Tuileries and off to- 
ward the barriers the Emperor and his glitter- 
ing escort galloped through the applauding 
streets of Paris, off for the war. 

Still wondering, still hand in hand, the bro- 
ther and sister walked back to the Street of the 
Fight. And there, while all the air was electric 
with excitement and the presage of battle, they 

passed the days in close companionship, care- 
less of the future, happy in the knowledge and 
enjoyment of their new relationship, and mak- 
ing Citizen Daunou tell them, again and again, 
the story of how he had unraveled the mystery 
and given them thus to each other. 

He told them of their father the emigre — 
the man who had died for principle, almost 
the last victim of the tyrants of the Terror. 
He told them how Nurse Marcel, the widow 
of the sansculotte, had, through fear of the 
consequences, represented Mademoiselle as her 
daughter when Citizen Daunou had adopted the 
baby girl into his home; and how she had lived 
with her as nurse and companion. He told 
how he had found the document that had es- 
tablished Philip's identity and given him a clue 
to the discovered relationship. He told of the 
missing part of the record, and the Emperor's 
knowledge of the affair ; and he gave to Pierre 
the Inspector all the credit and glory for the 
discovery that completed the reading of the 

Babette, too, Philip's young foster-sister, came 
in for her share of the enjoyment; and even 
Mother Therese, sly and gruff though she was, 
had to hear the recital and tell her part of the 
story, — how the Directory gave her this boy 
to bring up, what a good boy he always was 
(though Philip wondered when she found that 
out!), and how she had always said he would 
be a great man before he died. 

So the days passed — happily, quietly, joy- 
full}-. Then came news from the front to in- 
crease the general joy. The Emperor had 
marched to new and glorious victories. At 
Lutzen and at Bautzen he had met and con- 
quered his foes. Triumph was in the air. Peace 
was surely at hand. All Europe would soon be 
at the feet of the conqueror. In spite of the 
Russian campaign the Emperor was again 

Paris went wild with delight. The Empress 
Regent rode in state to the great church of 
Notre Dame to hear the Te Deum in praise of 
the victories; and, when the war was over, the 
Empress and the King of Rome, it was said, 
were to be crowned by the Emperor in token 
of the supremacy and triumph of France. 

The battles of Lutzen and Bautzen had been 

i8 95 .] 



stubborn and bloody. Many thousands of 
brave men had fallen on each side. But 
what of that ? They were victories for France, 
won by the boys of France; for the fighting 
battalions of 
that bloody 
campaign of 
18 13 was 
in large part 
drawn from 
the youth of 
France and 
Philip had 
heard with 
pride how 
a Marshal — 
Ney, " the 
bravest of 
the brave"— 
had stated 
that these 
boys were 
better than 
and that he 
could lead 
them any- 
where; and 
how, at Lut- 
zen, the Em- 
peror in the 
supreme mo- 
ment dash- 
ed into the 
thick of the 
fight, and 
shouted to 
the young 
who held 
the center: 
" My chil- 
dren, I rely 

upon you to save the Empire. Forward! France 
is watching you. Learn how to die for her ! " 
And they did; for, with ringing shouts of" Long 
live the Emperor ! " the boys then charged the 
Prussians, and with the bayonet's point turned 
the tide of battle and won the day for France. 
Vol. XXII.— 96-97. 

This was most inspiriting. Already, notwith- 
standing the happy days with his new-found 
sister, Philip found himself becoming uneasy 
in idleness and wishing for the call to action. 


It came at last. One day the following 
order, bearing the imperial seal, was delivered 
to him : 

Lieutenant Philip Desnouettes, of the Officers of Or- 
donnance, is directed to accompany the Empress to May- 
ence, and to report for duty to the Emperor in person. 




An armistice had been declared. Lutzen 
and Bautzen had called for a truce in the war; 
overtures for peace were made by Austria, 
a neutral power, and agreed to by France on 
the one side, and by the allied powers of 
Russia, Prussia, and Sweden on the other. 
And, in July, Napoleon, resting from battle, 
requested his Empress to join him for a few 
days at Mayence ; for the armistice declared a 
suspension of hostilities until the tenth of August 

" I go to join the Emperor," Philip announced 
joyfully to his sister and his good friends in 
the Street of the Fight. "But, alas! I am des- 
tined never to see service in the field. We 
shall have peace, and the Emperor will be the 
master of Europe." 

" I hope so, my son," Citizen Daunou said ; 
" but I do not believe it. The enemies of 
France are too many and too determined. 
They will fight to the death, and crush us by 
numbers. This conflict is not like those that 
have gone before. Our foemen have learned 
the art of war from the Emperor. They will 
turn the knowledge to fatal account. This 
armistice is but the prelude to yet more bloody 
fighting, and a defeat will be our death-blow. 
Oh, that the Emperor would see his oppor- 
tunity ! France asks for peace ; the world asks 
for it. By it the Emperor might confound his 
enemies, and bring about results more glorious 
than the most victorious war. But he will not. 
To-day the Emperor is great ; he is victorious. 
How much greater, how much more the victor, 
would he be if he would sign a treaty of peace 
giving up the needless provinces he has con- 
quered, and inscribe upon that treaty the 
words : ' These are the sacrifices to peace 
made by Napoleon for the welfare of the peo- 
ple of France.' But he will not do it, my son; 
he will not do it." 

Philip could not agree with his old friend. 
What young fellow living in an atmosphere of 
conquest would believe that there was such a 
thing as a giving that was a gaining ? 

He bade his dear ones adieu, took his place 
in the cortege of the Empress, and in high 
spirits set out to join the Emperor, then resting 
at Mayence. 

They rode from St. Cloud on the twenty- 

third of July, stopping on the way at Chalons 
and at Metz, and on the twenty-sixth reached 
Mayence. And there Philip again saw the 

" So, my noble young lieutenant of ordon- 
nance," cried Napoleon, pulling Philip's ear 
by way of friendly greeting, " you are ready 
for duty, eh ? And how is the pretty sister at 
Paris ? Now see what you can do to make 
her proud of her relationship. You will. Be 
but less heedless than of old, and more the 
man you are now big enough to be." 

Festivities made brilliant the brief visit of the 
Empress to Mayence. Princes and potentates 
thronged the audience-chamber. Fetes and 
illuminations, reviews and receptions, balls and 
banquets, crowded each other for ten days, and 
the old Rhenish city was full of stir and splendor. 

But beneath was keen anxiety. The world 
wished for peace; yet the world would know, 
all too well, the unbending will of the Emperor. 

The Emperor did have his way. He re- 
fused to listen to the appeals of Austria and the 
demands of Russia. Not an inch of France's 
conquests would he resign. The enemies of 
France should sue from him as from a victor. 
He would never be a suppliant. 

The tenth of August came. Hostilities were 
resumed. Austria broke her pledges and joined 
the enemies of France; and, under the walls 
of Dresden, Napoleon with a hundred thousand 
men hurled himself against the allied powers 
of Europe, nearly two hundred thousand strong. 

There Philip first " smelled gunpowder." 
There he received his " baptism of fire." There 
for the first time he heard the thunder of hos- 
tile cannon, the clash of opposing steel, the 
shrill neigh of the war-horse. With shouts of 
command were mingled the cries of combatants, 
the swelling cheer of the victor, the sullen growl 
of the vanquished, the backward note of re- 
treat, and the forward yell of pursuit. There, too, 
Philip heard the sharp scream of the wounded, 
the muffled groan of the dying, and saw all the 
pomp and pain, all the glory and misery, of the 
legalized murder that men call war. 

He heard all, he saw all, he was a part of all. 
At first kept busy in writing and despatching 
orders rapidly dictated by the Emperor, — that 
master of the art of war, whose eye seemed 

i8 95 .: 



everywhere, whose ear caught everything, — 
Philip paid but little attention to the details of 
the conflict. Then, despatched on some im- 
perative mission, he came face to face with 
death ; looked at it, paled before it, trembled 
before it, braced himself before it, and then, all 
on fire with excitement, desire, and duty, hard- 
ened himself in the presence of it, and became 
as reckless, as daring, as heedless, and as un- 
concerned as any of the thousands of young 
conscripts who made up the victorious army of 
Napoleon on that brilliant day of struggle and 
achievement before the walls of Dresden. 

Three times his duty carried him into the 
thick of the fight, amid flying bullets, falling 
fighters, the rush of battalions, and the clash of 
steel. The eye of the Emperor, he felt, was 
upon him; that Emperor who, braving death a 
hundred times, saw this weak spot, reckoned on 
that movement, hurled his squadrons against 
this wall of men, massed his infantry for a 
charge upon that yielding break, and, fighting 
sword in hand like any sub-lieutenant in the 
ranks, unmindful of the torrents of driving rain, 
heedless of the masses of clogging mud, cried : 
" Forward, my children ! again and yet again ! 
I cannot be beaten ! " and added to his laurels 
as a conqueror the masterly victory of Dresden. 

Philip was roused; he was electrified; he 
grew full of the fury of battle. He galloped this 
way and that, commanding, crying, cheering, 
carried away by excitement. And, when he 
rode with the hussars, pursuing the routed Prus- 
sians, he saw the only enemy that remained to 
face the victorious Frenchmen — a great, alert, 
watchful-eyed Danish hound, searching for his 

Philip whistled cheerily, and the dog came at 
the call. Then it bristled with growl and bark, 
as the boy it did not know leaned from his 
saddle to pet and capture it. The chase slack- 
ened; the bugles sounded the recall; and when, 
the battle over, the enemy flying, the victory 
won, Philip rode back to the French lines, he 
brought with him the only trophy of his valor, 
a single prisoner — this dog. 

He glanced at the hound's collar. Upon it 
he read: "lam General Moreau's dog." 

" Moreau ? Moreau ? " he queried. " It is a 
French name. Can it be that renegade ? " 

" Ha ! Moreau the deserter ! Moreau the 
renegade! Moreau the traitor ! Kill the dog!" 
cried the soldiers ; for the presence of Moreau, 
once the greatest of French fighters, — Moreau 
the victor of Hohenlinden, — as a leader in the 
ranks of the enemy, had infuriated and enraged 
the army. 

"Hands off! The dog is my prisoner!" 
Philip cried. 

With a laugh, the soldiers yielded to the young 
lieutenant. And when Philip rode through 
the gates of Dresden, he carried with him this 
captured pet of Napoleon's old-time comrade 
and rival. 

Chapter XVIII. 


Philip dismounted, and, still followed by his 
prisoner, entered the palace of the Saxon kings, 
in which the victorious Emperor had established 
his headquarters. 

There he found Napoleon — wet, bedraggled, 
tired, but triumphant — with the point of his 
cocked hat hanging in ruin upon his shoulder, 
and the famous gray overcoat streaked with 
mud. The Emperor had been three days with- 
out rest, and twelve hours in the pouring rain. 
But he had won the fight ; he had sent the 
enemy flying across the Saxon borders. Satis- 
faction and delight shone upon his face. 

" Ah, ha ! my ordonnance boy ! " he cried. 
" You are there, eh ? And how is it with you ? 
You have worked hard; you have worked 
faithfully. He who writes and rides may be 
as brave as he who carries the eagle or waves 
the sword. I am proud of you, young Des- 
nouettes ! " 

Praise is a wonderful medicine. It is rest 
for tired bones; it is balm for smarting wounds; 
it is even comfort in dying. To a boy who 
feels that he really has done his duty, it is es- 
pecially sweet to hear the words " Well done ! " 
And praise from Napoleon was both a reward 
and an inspiration. 

Philip grasped the Emperor's extended hand, 
and kissed it in acknowledgment. " Sire," he 
said, " you can never be beaten ! I would not 
have missed this day for all the palaces in 
Paris ! " 

Napoleon smiled again. Then he spied the 




hound, and asked, " Ah, that dog ? Is it Mo- 
reau's, as I have heard ? " 

" So his collar says, Sire," Philip replied. " I 
took him prisoner in a cottage at Racknitz." 

" Racknitz!" exclaimed the Emperor. " But 
that was where I turned the guns upon the 
Prussian staff. Poor Moreau!" said Napoleon, 
passing his hand over his brow. "I honored 
him once, though he was ever jealous of me. — 
Well, all goes finely. Rest yourself, Lieutenant 
Desnouettes, and to-morrow prepare to ride 
with me — very early, remember — to our camp 
at Pirna. We must follow fast on the run- 
aways, and smother them in the hills. And 
then — on to Berlin!" 

To the great camp at Pirna — ten miles south- 
east of Dresden — Philip rode with the Emperor, 
and was at once busied in writing orders direct- 
ing the pursuit of the demoralized Allies. 

Suddenly, in the midst of an order to Gen- 
eral Vandamme, who was to head off the re- 
treat near Kulm, a hundred miles to the north, 
the Emperor gave a sharp cry, clapped a hand 
over his lower waistcoat buttons, and doubled 
up completely, unable to think or act. 

Napoleon had the stomach-ache. 

You laugh at this ; but let me tell you there 
is nothing so demoralizing as pain. Headache 
and indigestion have wrecked more than one 
great cause. Men who can withstand armies 
have surrendered to the toothache. Napoleon 
was never victorious on the sea because he was 
always too seasick to command in person. 
Napoleon could not endure pain, and lost his 
crown through a stomach-ache. For the cramp 
that caught him that day at Pirna kept him 
from pursuing his routed foes, and with that 
failure to act began the conqueror's downfall. 

At all events, he gave up his plan of conduct- 
ing the pursuit in person. He returned to 
Dresden. Disaster fell upon his generals when- 
ever they fought without him. Oudinot was 
beaten at Grossbeeren ; Macdonald was over- 
thrown at Katzbach ; Vandamme was captured 
at Kulm; Ney was routed at Dennewitz. The 
Allies turned back. With fresh troops swelling 
their recovering ranks, they drew about the man 
they had sworn to destroy. 

His vassals forsook him ; his tributaries de- 
serted him. France was left alone, and, yield- 

ing to the advice of his marshals rather than 
following his own wise judgment, Napoleon 
gave up his plan of marching upon Berlin. His 
enemies drew about him ; they inclosed him in 
a ring of steel ; and on the sixteenth of October, 
1813, the Emperor and his men stood at bay 
under the walls of quaint old Leipsic — a hand- 
ful against a host. 

That bloodiest battle of modern times has 
been called the Battle of the Nations. It was 
France against all Europe. For three days it 
raged. Ninety-four thousand men were killed 
or wounded. Then the Saxons in the ranks of 
France went over in a body to the enemy. Re- 
treat was a necessity. Napoleon was beaten. 

But he would not admit it. Neither would 
Philip. The boy was worked nearly to death. 
He wrote, he rode, he ran ; he scurried about 
amid flying bullets, looked almost down the 
throats of belching cannon, got himself en- 
tangled in moving masses of infantry, and 
dodged many a sweeping cavalry charge. He 
was growing heedless of danger; he was be- 
coming used to war. 

He was angry to see that instead of pursuing, 
the French were really in retreat. But Philip 
did not call it a retreat; he spoke of it as a 
" backward movement." He scowled with rage 
as he railed at the " treacherous Saxons " ; and 
when the crowning disaster came, — the blow- 
ing up of the bridge over the Elster, which cut 
off the French rear-guard, the wagon-train, and 
the wounded, — Philip echoed the Emperor, and 
declared that it was disaster and not defeat that 
took away the glory of the great victory of 
Leipsic — the " victory " that all the world now 
knows to have been a most disastrous defeat. 

Then came the fight at Hanau, the last 
gleam of sunshine through the gathering clouds 
— for Napoleon turned it into a success ; and 
on the first day of November Philip was de- 
spatched to Paris as the herald of victory, car- 
rying to the Empress Regent the twenty hostile 
standards captured at Leipsic and at Hanau. 

His coming cheered people greatly, for it 
showed the Emperor was victorious ; and Philip 
was praised and petted on every hand. 

From the palace, as soon as his duties were 
over, Philip flew to the Street of the Fight, the 
great hound stalking at his heels. 

i8 9 5-: 



" Mademoiselle my sister," he said, after the 
glad greeting was over, " I bring you the first 
captive of my bow and spear. I lay my trophy 
at your feet. Down, ' Marshal ' ! Crouch ! " And 
the big Dane, trained by his captor for this 
very act of homage, first hung his head as if 
in acknowledgment of his defeat, and then 
crouched, a suppliant for mercy 
at the feet of the delighted girl. 

" Oh, Philip !— for me ? How 
lovely ! What a beauty ! See, 
Nurse. My new protector ! " 
and she rested her little hand 
on the great dog's head. " But, 
Philip, did you really fight with 
bow and spear? They tell us 
the Cossacks do." 

Philip laughed with the supe- 
rior air of a veteran. " Well, we 
do not, Mademoiselle," he re- 
plied; "but the Tartars and 
Bashkirs do. Pestiferous little 
Russian wasps ! I caught one 
of their arrows through my 
chapeau. See ! " and, drawing 
his hat from beneath his arm, 
he showed her where a Tartar 
arrow had torn an ugly hole. 
" My best one, too," he added, 
gazing on it ruefully; while 
Mademoiselle regarded the rent 
with awe, and then cried : " Oh, 
but suppose it had not gone 
so high, my Philip. Oh, dear ! " 
and, with a little shriek, she 
transferred her caressing hand 
to her brother's curly head. 

Soon his dear friends gathered 
in welcome and admiration, and 
the boy's rattling chatter almost dispelled the 
gloom he noted on all their faces. For despite 
the brief elation over the pretended victories, 
Paris was downcast and anxious. 

"A fine mess your Corsican is getting us into, 
young Desnouettes," blurted out Uncle Fauriel. 
" Why, before we know it, we shall have the Allies 
storming into Paris itself. And what then ? " 

"Never!" cried Philip, hotly. "Paris will 
never be occupied by the foes of France while 
the Emperor lives. I tell you he is master." 

" How can he be, my Philip, with half a mil- 
lion men crowding him against a wall ? " Citi- 
zen Daunou said sadly. " I acknowledge the 
Emperor's greatness. I know his mighty will. 
He will not give up without a blow. The hour 
for great souls is that when everything is lost. 
But even his valor cannot withstand a host. 


We have no men left to fight for him. Let 
him make peace, or his empire is doomed." 

" I know his valor, too," said Uncle Fauriel. 
" But your Emperor is no Frenchman. He is a 
Corsican. And the Corsican, like the cat, per- 
sists in squirming and scratching even when one 
holds him by the nape of the neck. Europe 
holds your Emperor thus. But let Europe be- 
ware. Your Emperor at bay is but a cat in a 
corner. You shall yet see the claws of the 




Within a few days after Philip's arrival the 
Emperor himself returned to Paris. He came 
unannounced. He came almost in disgrace. 
Again he had lost an army for France. But 
pride was in his heart and determination in his 

" Peace ? " he cried. " Who talks of peace 
with the enemy at our gates ? We must fight 
once more. We must fight desperately, and 
when we have conquered, then we will talk of 
peace. I desire peace, but it must be solid 
and honorable. France depends upon me. I 
am a man who may be killed, but never will 
be insulted. The French will be worthy of 
themselves and of me." 

With that, he set about to raise a new army 
for the defense of France. " In three months 
we shall have peace," he said. " The enemy 
will be driven out, or I shall be dead. My sol- 
diers and I have not forgotten our trade, and 
those who dared profane our frontier shall soon 
repent of having set foot on French soil." 

Already the " Corsican," as Uncle Fauriel 
had declared, was sharpening his " claws." 

The foot of the foeman was on French soil. 
The Allies had crossed the Rhine ; they had in- 
vaded France. The nation, accustomed only to 
attack, was unprepared to defend. Paris was 
without fortifications ; the fighting material the 
Emperor demanded was not easy to procure. 
Twenty years of war had well-nigh drained 
France of men. 

But the Emperor was imperative. " Give me 
soldiers ! " he said. " Men-soldiers ! I cannot 
fight your battles with children. Our boys of 
the Young Guard fought nobly at Dresden and 
Leipsic ; nothing can exceed their courage. 
But in the struggle before us, if I am to con- 
quer, I must have men, men, men ! " 

The men came, and the boys as well. 
Though all France cried for peace ; though 
Paris wailed, " This insatiate one wishes to 
sacrifice all our children to his wild ambition " ; 
and though this wail was echoed in every town 
and village of the Empire, still the Senate, ac- 
customed to obey the Emperor, voted both the 
men and the money he demanded, and in Jan- 
uary, 1814, France had collected nearly three 
hundred thousand men with which to oppose 
an invading force of nearly a million. 

It was a death-grapple, desperate, brilliant, 
effective. It was a struggle magnificent in its 
intensity, masterly in its conception, wonderful 
in its devices. It is too little known in history 
overshadowed by the glory of Austerlitz, the 
disaster of Moscow, the carnage of Leipsic, the 
tragedy of Waterloo. It was the conqueror at 

Ten times, in that short campaign, did Na- 
poleon face and overthrow his hunters. All 
his strategy, all his daring, all his brilliant 
methods were brought into play ; and, each 
time, the invaders reeled back, defeated, bleed- 
ing, and broken. The " claws of the Corsican" 
struck swiftly and sank deep. 

Twice was Philip sent to Paris with flags as 
trophies and prisoners as signs of triumph. 
Then, one March afternoon, the Emperor sum- 
moned him in haste. 

" Lieutenant Desnouettes," he said, " I in- 
trust you with this letter to the Empress. Be 
wary and be vigilant. Guard it with your life. 
Deliver it only into the Empress's own hands. 
It is because I know your courage* and your 
loyalty that I repose this trust in you. Ride, 
for life or death ! " 

Philip sprang to his saddle, and galloped to- 
ward Paris. 

The sun was nearly set as he rode out of the 
little hamlet of St. Dizier (where Napoleon, 
next day, was to win his last victory), and 
headed for Paris. The night favored the rider; 
for, with the continual changing of positions, 
one was always in danger, and darkness was a 
convenient cloak. If he could but escape the 
enemy's outposts or their foraging parties, his 
way was clear. 

So he rode on with speed. From St. Dizier 
to Perthes and Villotte and Yitry on the Marne 
he rode; and, crossing the river, spurred on to 
Cosle and Connantray and La Fere-Champe- 
noise, where, one to ten, the French had fought 
the invaders, and Pacthod's guards had proved 
themselves heroes. Soon he galloped into Se- 
zanne. Thus far all was well. But, as he rode 
from Sezanne, he hesitated. The road to Cou- 
lommiers was the most direct ; but he knew the 
upper road better, where, from Montmirail, the 
road led westward to Meaux. 

He decided for the upper road, and there 

,8 9 5.] 



was his mistake. For, as he saw the lights of 
Montmirail shining across the narrow Little 
Morin, and looked for the white streak that 
meant the road to Meaux, he saw ahead a 
moving blur, magnified by the darkness into an 
uncertain but threatening mass. He tried to 
force his horse from the road into the border- 
ing fields, although he knew that thus he would 
miss the bridge across the Little Morin and 
have to swim for it. 

In the gloom of the night his horse, like a 
sensible beast, refused to leave the road or jump 
the low wall that flanked the roadway. 

The moving mass came on with shout and 
swing. Philip had been seen. The challenge 
rang sharply out, but Philip held his peace, re- 
fusing a reply. Then bullets whistled by him, 
and the boy, thinking safety lay only in his own 
legs, dismounted and let his horse go free. 

With the " Hurra ! " that he now knew so well 
as the Cossack war-cry, his foemen swooped 
upon the riderless horse; but, seeing through the 

( To be con 

boy's plan, dashed across the bridge, and 
stretched themselves in a crescent from wall 
to wall. 

Then Philip sought to climb the wall, and es- 
cape across the fields to the bank of the stream. 
But he was stiff with riding, and, in the darkness, 
his footing was insecure. He slipped and fell 
almost beneath the hoofs of an oncoming horse. 

Again he heard the guttural call, the terrible 
Cossack " Hurra ! " Then something pounced 
upon him in the dark, before he could free his 
pistol-hand or draw his sword. Eager hands 
felt for and grabbed him. He squirmed and 
dodged, and wriggled and kicked, but all to no 

The next instant he was lifted to his feet; a 
light was flashed full upon him ; fierce faces en- 
circled him ; words he did not understand shot 
from bearded and savage lips. He could nei- 
ther defend nor assail. He could not even die, 
as he had sworn he would if cornered. Philip 
was a prisoner in the hands of Cossacks. 

tinned. ) 




Half hidden by tall meadow-grass that sways with every breeze, 

And running through deep, silent pools, and under spreading trees; 

Now stealing through the quiet ways of solitary wood, 

And now beneath a timbered arch where once an old mill stood; 

Across the fields and to the brow where valleys fall away, 

Then over beds of shelving rock its waters dance and play, 

And now and then, as though in joy of such delightful fun, 

It springs into a waterfall that glistens in the sun, 

And eddies round and round about, in strange fantastic glee, 

Then steadies down and flows away sedately to the sea. 

Frank H. Sweet. 
7 68 


By Brander Matthews. 

In the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, 
near the Merrimac River, not far from Salis- 
bury Beach, and in a house built by his great- 
great-grandfather more than two centuries ago, 
John Greenleaf Whittier was born on Decem- 
ber 17, 1807. For three generations before him, 
the family had been connected with the Society 
of Friends; and all his life long Whittier re- 
tained the Quaker simplicity of manner and 
attire. He began early to do the chores of the 
household and also to aid his father in the 
work of the farm. 

The house was surrounded by woods, and "a 
small brook, noisy enough as it foamed, rippled, 
and laughed down its rocky falls " by the gar- 
den-side, and then wound its way to a larger 
stream, that, " after doing its duty at two or 
three saw and grist mills " (the clash of which 
would be heard in still days across the inter- 
vening woodlands), ran into the great river and 
was borne along to the great sea. Thus, in 
early boyhood Whittier had a chance to get 
friendly and familiar with brooks and woods 
and rocky hills and all the other features of the 
New England landscape. He helped to care 
for the oxen and the horses, and he came to 
know the wilder animals which also lived on 
the farm. 

His chief companion was his younger sister, 
who devoted herself to him for half a century. 

In his boyhood Whittier had scant instruc- 
tion, for the district school was open only a 
few weeks in winter. He had but few books; 
there were scarcely thirty in the house. The one 
book he read and read again until he had it by 
heart almost was the Bible ; and the Bible was 
always the book which exerted the strongest 
literary influence upon him. But when he was 
fourteen a teacher came who lent him books of 
travel and opened a new world to him. It was 
this teacher who brought to the Whittiers one 
evening a volume of Burns and read aloud 

some of the poems, after explaining the Scot- 
tish dialect. Whittier begged to borrow the 
book, which was almost the first poetry he had 
ever read. It was this volume of Burns which 
set Whittier to making verses himself, serving 
both as the inspiration and the model of his 
earlier poetic efforts. The Scottish poet, with 
his homely pictures of a life as bare and as 
hardy as that of New England then, first re- 
vealed to the American poet what poetry really 
was, and how it might be made out of the actual 
facts of his own life. 

That book of Burns's poems had an even 
stronger influence on Whittier than the odd 
volume of the Spectator which fell into the 
hands of Franklin had on the American author 
whose boyhood is most like Whittier's. Frank- 
lin also was born in a humble and hard-work- 
ing family, doing early his share of the labor, 
and having but a meager education, although 
always longing for learning. It is true that 
Irving and Cooper and Bryant did not grad- 
uate from college, but they could have done 
so, had they persevered; and Emerson and 
Longfellow and Hawthorne did get as much 
of the higher education as was then possible in 
America. But neither Franklin nor Whittier 
ever had the chance ; it was as much as they 
could do to pick up the merest elements of an 

After he had made the acquaintance of 
Burns's poems, Whittier began to scribble 
rhymes of his own on his slate at school, and 
in the evening about the family hearth. One 
of his boyish stanzas lingered in the memory 
of an elder sister : 

And must I always swing the flail, 
And help to fill the milking-pail ? 
I wish to go away to school ; 
I do not wish to be a fool. 

With practice he began to be bolder, and he 
wrote copies of verses on every-day events, 




and also little ballads. One of these, written 
when he was seventeen, his eldest sister liked 
so well that she sent it to the weekly paper of 
Newburyport, the Free Press, then recently 
started by William Lloyd Garrison. She did this 
without telling her brother, and no one was more 
surprised than he when he opened the paper 
and found his own verses in " The Poet's Cor- 
ner." He was aiding his father to mend a 
stone wall by the roadside as the postman 
passed on horseback and tossed the paper to 
the young man. " His heart stood still a mo- 
ment when he saw his own verses," says a 
biographer. " Such delight as his comes only 
once in the lifetime of any aspirant to literary 
fame. His father at last called to him to put 
up the paper and keep at work." 

The editor of the Free Press was only three 
years older than the poet, although far more 
mature. He did more for the young man than 
merely print these boyish verses, for he went to 
Whittier's father and urged the need of giving 
the youth a little better education. To do this 
was not possible then ; but two years later, 
when Whittier was nineteen, an academy was 
started at Haverhill, and here he attended, even 
writing a few stanzas to be sung at the opening 
exercises. He studied at Haverhill for two 
terms, and by making slippers, by keeping 
books, and by teaching school, he earned the lit- 
tle money needed to pay his way. At Haverhill 
he was able to read the works of many authors 
hitherto unknown to him, and he also wrote for 
the local papers much prose and verse. 

By the time he was twenty-one he had fitted 
himself to earn his living by his pen. He went 
to Boston in 1829 to edit a paper there; and he 
returned to Haverhill the next year to take 
charge of the local journal. Then he was at 
the head of an important weekly in Hartford. 
In these various positions he acquitted himself 
well, mastering the questions of the day care- 
fully, and expressing his opinions forcibly and 
courteously. But his health failed, owing partly 
perhaps to the exposure and toil of his boy- 
hood on the farm; and in 1832 he gave up 
journalism for a while and went back to his 
father's house. He had never been robust ; 
and all his life long he was forced to take care 
of himself and to husband his strength. 

But if the body was weak, the spirit was 
strong ; Whittier had the stout heart which 
leads a forlorn hope unhesitatingly. Before he 
was thirty he had made up his mind that it was 
his duty to do what he could for the relief of 
the unfortunate negroes who were held in bon- 
dage in the South. In 1833 he wrote a pam- 
phlet called "Justice and Expediency," in which 
he considered the whole question of slavery, 
and declared that it should cease forever. 
Three years later he became secretary of the 
Anti-Slavery Society. In 1838 he went to 
Philadelphia to edit the Pennsylvania Freeman; 
and so boldly did he advocate the right of the 
negro to own himself that the printing-office 
was sacked by a mob and burned. Then, as 
more than once afterward for the same cause, 
Whittier was in danger for his life. 

Whittier showed physical courage in facing 
the ruffians who wished to prevent free speech ; 
but he had revealed the higher moral courage 
in casting in his lot with the little band of aboli- 
tionists. Up to this time he had looked forward 
to holding public office, as well he might, when 
many another journalist was stepping from the 
newspaper desk into public life. When he 
became one of the small band who denounced 
slavery, he gave up all chance of office. He 
also had literary ambition, but so strong was 
the power of the slave-owners then, and so in- 
tolerant were they, that most editors and pub- 
lishers were sorely intimidated, and declined to 
print not only any attack on slavery, but even 
the other writings of an author who was known 
as an abolitionist. Thus Whittier, in identifying 
himself with the anti-slavery movement, thought 
that he was giving up his literary future also. 
He made his decision promptly, and he never 
regretted it. Indeed, in later life he said to a 
boy of fifteen to whom he was giving counsel, 
" My lad, if thou wouldst win success, join 
thyself to some unpopular but noble cause." 

By constant practice he had acquired ease 
in composition; but as his writing gained in 
strength his taste also improved. A miscellany 
of prose and verse called " Legends of New 
England," published in 1831, was his first book. 
It contained a selection of the best of the poems 
and the essays he had printed here and there in 
periodicals. In later life he thought so little 

i8 95 .] 



of this volume that none of the essays, and only 
two of the poems, were republished in the re- 
vised edition of his works. Imperfect as was 
this youthful verse, scarcely any American had 
then written better. Bryant's first volume, and 
Poe's, had been published several years before ; 
while Longfellow's earliest book of poems, 
" Voices of the Night," did not appear until 
1839, to be followed in 1847 by the first collec- 
tion of Emerson's poems. 

of Freedom," appeared in 1849. When we com- 
pare either of these volumes with Longfellow's 
" Poems on Slavery" (printed in 1842, midway 
between them), we see how much sturdier Whit- 
tier's stanzas are, and how much more his heart 
is in the cause than Longfellow's. It is Long- 
fellow who writes with Quaker-like gentleness ; 
it is Whittier who fiercely rouses to the fight. 

In other ways also is the contrast of Long- 
fellow with Whittier interesting and instructive. 


Other poems, which Whittier discarded in 
later life, were published in the next few years. 
The most vigorous of the verses he wrote at 
this time were inspired by his hatred of slavery. 
From the day he threw himself into the aboli- 
tion movement, his verse has a loftier note 
and a more ringing tone. With him poetry was 
then no longer a mere amusement or accom- 
plishment ; it had become a weapon for use in 
the good fight. In these anti-slavery poems 
there is a noble passion and a righteous anger. 
They were calls to a battle with evil ; and the 
best of them rang out like blasts of a bugle. 
One collection of these anti-slavery verses was 
published in 1837, and a second, called "Voices 

Both were New Englanders, and both hated 
slavery. Longfellow was the most literary of 
all our poets, while Whittier was perhaps the 
least so. Longfellow's chief service to our litera- 
ture was in showing how it was possible to get 
the best that Europe and the storied past could 
give, and yet to remain an American of the 
present. Whittier dealt almost wholly with the 
facts of American life, with the legends and 
the thoughts, with the landscape and the peo- 
ple, of New England ; indeed, he came at last 
to have a popularity second only to Longfel- 
low's, and due largely to the fact that he, more 
than any other, was the representative poet of 
New England. 




Whittier was the only one of the leading 
American authors who never crossed the At- 
lantic. Not only did he never go to Europe, 
he never went south of the Potomac or west of 
the Alleghanies. When the farm at Haver- 
hill was sold in 1S36, part of the price was 
used to buy a small place at Amesbury ; and 
that house was Whittier's home for more than 
half a century. After his return from Phila- 
delphia, in 1839, he was rarely absent from 
Amesbury for more than a month or two at a 
time, although he did once reside the better 
part of a year in Lowell. He made visits to 
Boston often, and sometimes even to New 
York ; and frequently he spent his summers 
elsewhere ; but until his death his home was 
the little house at Amesbury. 

With the publication in 1843 of the book 
called " Lays of My Home," Whittier made 
sure his place among American poets. In this 
volume are some of the best of his ballads, — 
"Cassandra Southwick," for one, — and as a 
writer of ballads only Longfellow, among all 
the American poets, was Whittier's superior. 
He had the gift of story-telling in verse. He 
did not strain his invention to devise a strange 
plot ; he took an old legend or a tale of real 
life, and he set it forth in rhyme simply and 
easily. He had the touch of genius which 
transfigures common things. He sang of what 
he knew — the fields where he played as a boy, 
the river and the hills he had gazed on in 
childhood, the men and women who had 
grown up about him, the thoughts and the 
sentiments he and they had inherited together. 
Even the unpromising proper names of New 
England become melodious in his hands. 

As the years passed, Whittier's powers ripened, 
and the level of his work is better sustained; but 
the quality of the poems included in " Songs of 
Labor," published in 1850, and in " Home Bal- 
lads," published in i860, is the quality of the 
collection published in 1843. Among the verse 
written during these seventeen years are the 
" Angels of Buena Vista," " Maud Muller " 
(perhaps the most popular of all his briefer 
poems), " Ichabod " (perhaps the loftiest of all 
laments over fallen greatness), the " Barefoot 
Boy," " Skipper Ireson's Ride " (one of his 
most characteristic New England ballads), and 

the tribute to Robert Burns. The poet of New 
England was always swift to declare his in- 
debtedness to the poet of Scotland, and to pro- 
claim his abiding regard for the poems which 
had first shown him what poetry was. 

During these years of the anti-slavery strug- 
gle not only was Whittier's reputation as a poet 
growing steadily, but the people of the North 
and of the West were as steadily coming over 
to his side. Of course we cannot exactly mea- 
sure the influence of a poem or song, but it may 
be almost irresistible. He was a wise man who 
was willing to let others make the laws of a 
people if only he could write their songs. Law 
is but the expression of public opinion; and when 
the ringing stanzas of the anti-slavery bards 
and the stirring speeches of the anti-slavery 
orators had awakened the conscience of the free 
States, the end of the evil was nigh. Slavery 
made a hard fight for its life; but it was slavery 
that Whittier hated, and not the Southern slave- 
owners ; and there is no bitterness or rancor in 
the poems published in 1863 and called "In 
War Time." And of these ballads of the battle 
vears the best and the best beloved is " Bar- 
bara Frietchie," which was rather a tribute to 
the old flag than an attack upon those who 
were then in arms against it. 

After the final triumph of the cause for 
which he had battled long and bravely, Whit- 
tier turned again to peaceful themes. With the 
spread of his opinions among the people, his 
poetry also had become more popular ; but no 
single book of his ever had a wide-spread and 
immediate success until " Snow-Bound " ap- 
peared in 1866. This poem of New England 
was received by the reading public as no other 
poem had been received since Longfellow's 
" Evangeline " and " Hiawatha." It was so prof- 
itable that for the first time in his life — and 
he was then nearly sixty — Whittier was placed 
above want. 

Only less successful was " The Tent on the 
Beach," printed the next year, and followed in 
twelve months by " Among the Hills." There- 
after his position was secure. He had taken 
his place as one of the poets of America, beside 
Emerson and Longfellow, beside Lowell and 
Holmes ; and perhaps he was nearer than any 
of the others to the hearts of the New Eng- 

»8 9 5-] 



landers and of the Westerners whose fathers 
had gone out from New England. He has 
been called a Quaker Burns; he might better 
be called the Burns of New England ; and as 
Burns wrote for Scotland rather than for the 
whole of Great Britain, so Whittier wrote for 
New England rather than for the whole of the 



MV/ ' ' Wllllllllil 



United States. It was the scenery of New 
England he best loved to paint in his ballads ; 
it was the sentiment of New England he 
voiced in his lyrics; it was the steadfast faith 
in New England that gave strength to all he 

During the later years of his life Whittier 
wrote as the mood came, and he gathered his 
scattered verses into volumes from time to 
time, — "Ballads of New England," for ex- 

ample, in 1870; "Mabel Martin," in 1874; 
" The King's Missive," in 1881. They all served 
to strengthen his hold on the hearts of the 
people. No doubt his old age was made hap- 
pier by the honor in which he was held. He 
outlived most of his fellow-poets of New Eng- 
land. He saw Longfellow go first, and then 
Emerson, and finally Low- 
ell, his comrade in the 
anti-slavery struggle. Long 
past the allotted three- 
score years and ten he 
printed a final volume of 
his poems, in 1890, under 
the title, "At Sundown." 
At last, early in the fall 
of 1892, he had a slight 
paralytic shock, and he 
died at dawn on September 
7, being then in his eighty- 
fifth year. 

It is as a poet that Whit- 
tier is held most in honor, 
but he was also a writer 
of prose ; and in the final 
collected edition of his 
works published four years 
before his death his prose 
writings fill three of the 
seven volumes. 

Unlike as Whittier and 
Franklin were in many 
respects, they were alike 
in others. Both had the 
sympathy with the lowly 
which comes of early simi- 
lar experience. Both 
learned a handicraft, for 
Franklin set type and 
worked a printing-press, 
and Whittier made slippers. To both of them 
literature was a means, rather than an end in it- 
self. Verse to Whittier, and prose to Franklin, 
was a weapon to be used in the good fight. In 
Whittier's verse, as in Franklin's prose, there was 
the same pithy directness which made their words 
go home to the hearts of the plain people whom 
they both understood and represented. To 
Franklin was given the larger life and the greater 
range of usefulness ; but Whittier always did with 




all his might the duty that lay before him. While 
Franklin gained polish by travel and by asso- 
ciation with citizens of the world, Whittier was 
the only one of the greater American authors 
who never went to Europe, and he kept to the 
end not a little of his rustic simplicity. 

While Whittier was practical, as becomes a 
New Englander, he had not the excessive com- 
mon sense which characterizes Franklin, and he 
lacked also Franklin's abundant humor. But 
the poet was not content, as Franklin was, 
with showing that honesty is the best policy, 
and that in the long run vice leads to ruin ; 
he scourged evil with the wrath of a Hebrew 
prophet. Except one or another of his ballads, 
none of his poems was written for its own sake; 
they were nearly all intended to further a cause 
he held dear, or to teach a lesson he thought 

Whittier was a born poet. He was not an 
artist in verse as Longfellow was; and he was 
often as careless in rhyme and as rugged in 
rhythm as was Emerson. Yet to some of his 
stanzas there is a lyric lilt that sings itself into 
the memory ; and the best of his ballads have 
an easy grace of movement. He knew his 

own shortcomings and lack of training, and he 
was quick to take advice from those whom he 
thought better equipped. In this as in all 
things else he was modest. How modest he 
really was is perhaps best shown in certain 
verses of the poem he called " My Triumph " : 

O living friends who love me ! 

dear ones gone above me ! 
Careless of other fame, 

1 leave to you my name. 

Hide it from idle praises, 

Save it from evil phrases : 

Why, when dear lips that spake it 

Are dumb, should strangers wake it ? 

Let the thick curtain fall ; 
I better know than all 
How little I have gained, 
How vast the unattained. 

Sweeter than any sung 

My songs that found no tongue ; 

Nobler than any fact 

My wish that failed of act. 

Others shall sing the song, 
Others shall right the wrong, — 
Finish what I begin, 
And all I fail of win. 


By Tohn Bennett. 

The bold old sandstone hills of Ross 

Swing up and down the land 
Like burly giants roystering 

Together, hand-in-hand ; 
And over hill and over dale 

The clouds go rolling free 
Like great gold-laden galleons 

Across a summer sea ; 
And high along the windy sky 

The sea-gulls wheel and wing ; 
About, about, now in, now out, 

They reel and sweep and swing, 
Until one's head goes round and round 

With every dizzy ring. 

Across the knurly hills of Ross 

Bold Summer blew his horn ; 
It stirred a thousand dreaming dales 

And waked the sleeping corn ; 
So high, so far, so clear it rang 

Through all the drowsy world, 
The wild-flower host wide open sprang, 

The blind brown ferns uncurled. 
It roused a myriad untaught notes 

In hedge and bush and tree ; 
It set the wild-wood echoing 

With bubble-throated glee, 
And sent a sudden laughing thrill 

All through the heart of me. 

is 95 .: 



Along the brawny hills of Ross 
The west wind whirls the rain, 

Across the murky chimney-pots, 
Adown the dusty pane ; 

And, oh, that wind is calling me 
From out the dusty town, 

Out to the misty meadow-land, 

Out to the dewy down, 
Out to the wind-blown hills of Ross, 

Into the summer shower, 
To be a fellow to the field, 

A brother to the flower, 
And part of the midsummer day 

If only for an hour. 


By Frederick. B. Opper. 

I 'm fond of nice stories of giants and witches I love tales of wizards with stern, bearded faces, 
Who live all alone by themselves ; And wands, and long robes of deep red ; 

Of gnomes, underground, who are guarding But — I wish there were not quite so many 
their riches; dark places 

And dragons, and goblins, and elves. To be passed when I 'm going to bed ! 


By S. Scoville, Jr. 

Every American boy should learn to run. 
In Greece, in the days when men and women 
took better care of their bodies than they ever 
have since, every boy, and girl too, was taught 
to run, just as the American child is taught to 
read. And as far as we can judge by the 
statues they have left behind them, there were 
very few hollow-chested, spindle-legged boys 
among the Greeks. The Persian boy was 
taught to speak the truth, run, ride, and shoot 
the bow. The English boy is encouraged to 
run. In fact, at some of the great English 
public schools, boys of thirteen and fourteen 
years of age, like Tom Brown and East at 
Rugby, can cover six and eight miles cross- 
country in the great hare-and-hound runs. Every 
boy is turned out twice a week, out of doors, 
and made to run, and fill himself full of 
pure fresh air and sunshine, and gain more 
strength and life than any amount of weight- 
pulling or dumb-bell work in stuffy gymnasiums 
would give him. See the result — the English 
boys, as a whole, are a stronger set than we 
American boys. Every English school-boy is to 
some extent an athlete. And that is what Amer- 
ican boys should be. Not because foot-ball, 
base-ball, and tennis are valuable in themselves, 
but for the good they do in strengthening boys' 
bodies. By playing ball every day for hours in 
the open air; by exercising his arms, back, and 
leg muscles in throwing, batting, running, and 
sliding ; by going to bed early and giving up 
all bad habits in preparation for the games, a 
boy stores up strength, which he can draw on 
all his life long — that is why every boy should 
be an athlete. But not every boy can play 
foot-ball or base-ball. He may not be heavy 
or strong enough; he may never be able to 
acquire the knack of catching or batting the 
ball. Every boy can become a runner. 

As one of the best trainers in the world once 
said to me, "Any fellow who is willing to work 
Vol. XXII.— 98. 7 

can make a runner out of himself." If you 
can't get on the eleven or the nine, don't give 
up athletics in despair, as so many boys do. 
Try for a place on the athletic team. If there 
is no athletic team in the school, make one. 
Talk it over with the boys and teachers, and 
get up a spring or fall meeting, and have it 
include most of the track and field events. 
Take up a subscription for first, second, and 
third prizes; they need not be expensive; the 
cheapest medal, when won fairly, becomes 

There is another boys' school somewhere near 
you. Get the boys interested, challenge them 
to dual games, on the plan of the Yale-Har- 
vard games, with a challenge cup or a banner 
that goes to the school winning the greatest 
number of points ; and see that every boy who 
is not playing base-ball or foot-ball is trying for 
a place on that team. There is room for all. In 
the schedule of the Yale- Harvard games there 
are fourteen events, and as first, second, and 
third places all count in the point-scoring, there 
is an opportunity for forty-two men to win a 
point for their college. Nor does a boy need 
to feel afraid to try because he has never done 
any running. Some of the best track athletes 
in the great colleges never saw a running-shoe 
until they came to college, and, beginning as 
perfectly untrained men, became champions. 

Running is one of the best of exercises for 
the whole body. It rounds out a hollow chest, 
drives the oxygen into the farthest air-cells of 
the lungs, wonderfully increases their capacity, 
and develops the leg, thigh, stomach, and waist 
muscles. But it must be learned just as skating, 
swimming, and bicycling have to be learned, 
and there are two things that must be kept in 
mind by the learner. The first is — whether in 
sprinting, distance, or cross-country running — to- 
run entirely on the ball of the foot, or, as they 
say on the track, " Get up on your toes ! " By 

77 8 



striking on the ball of the foot, which is a sort 
of natural spring-board, the runner takes a 
longer stride, and the spring that he gets en- 
ables him to lift his foot more rapidly and re- 
peat the stride more quickly than the runner 
who goes flat-footed. As length and rapidity 
of stride are what give speed in running, it fol- 
lows that a flat-footed runner can never be a 
fast one. Another reason against pounding 
away flat-footed is that the delicate mechanism 
of the ankle, knee, and hip is jarred and may in 
time be injured. 


The second point for a runner to observe 
is his method of breathing. Breathe through 
both the nose and mouth. Nearly every boy 
when he first begins to run has the insane idea 

that all the breathing must be done through 
the nose. There was never a greater mistake. 
When a boy runs his heart beats much faster 
than it does ordinarily, and pumps out just so 
much more blood. All this must be aerated or 
purified by air from the lungs. The oppression 
that one feels when beginning to run is due 
to the lungs demanding more air for the extra 
quantity of blood which the heart is sending 
out. Nature has looked out for this and pro- 
vided a way by which air can be furnished to 
the lungs very rapidly. It is a very simple 
way, and consists of 
merely opening the 
mouth. Breathe, then, 
through the nose in 
ordinary life as much 
as possible, but when 
you are running or ex- 
ercising violently open 
the mouth and take 
in air in deep, rapid 
breaths, not gulping it 
in through the mouth 
alone, but letting the 
mouth and nose have 
each their share. 

Take as long a stride 
as possible, but with- 
out overbalancing the 
body. Bend the body 
slightly from the hips ; 
for if it be held too 
erect the stride will 
be shortened. Let the 
bent arms swing easily 
and naturally a little 
above the level of the 
hips, swinging out and 
back with every stride. 
This keeps the muscles 
loose, prevents them 
from becoming tired 
so easily as they would 
if held rigid, and bal- 
ances the body better. 
Take especial pains to keep the body from be- 
ing stiff; let it swing as easily and lithely as pos- 
sible. In sprinting the stride is shorter and 
more rapid than in long-distance running, and 


running: for boys. 


a sprinter usually runs with body thrown farther 
back, in quite different form from the long, easy 
lope of the distance runner. 

There are four different kinds of running. 
Sprinting, which includes all distances up to 
the quarter mile; middle- 
distance running — from 
the quarter to the mile; 
and long-distance running, 
which includes the mile 
and all distances beyond. 
Besides these there is cross- 
country running. This last 
is the best of all for grow- 
ing boys. The first three 
are track races, and it is 
monotonous work trotting 
round and round a cinder 
path. But, starting off on 
some brisk autumn day when 
there is just enough tingle 
the air to send the blood humming 
through the veins, cover, with a jolly 
crowd, some five or ten miles of country, 
climbing fences, jumping brooks, plunging 
through thickets, while here and there some un- 
lucky fellow goes up to his knees in a swamp or 
jumps too short over the brook and lands with a 
splash — all part of the fun. Then, as the sun is 
going down, reach home, and see how refreshing 
the cold splash and the rub-down are, what an 
appetite one has for supper and what a feeling 
of life and strength. Try it, boys. Start out in 
the fall with all the boys who are not playing 
foot-ball, and take a five-mile run twice a week 

running he can have no better preparation than 
a year or so of cross-country work. 

Conneff, the holder of the world's amateur 
record for the mile, started as a cross-country 
runner. Jarvis, who holds the intercollegiate 
record for the mile, and Shat- 
tuck, the intercollegiate re- 
cord-holder for the quarter, 


also began their careers by doing cross-country 

In an article of this length I can give but 
the most general directions. 

Any trainer or runner will give suggestions 
in the details. 

First, a word about the track itself. Many 
schools are not large enough to have a regular 

right across the country, avoiding the roads clay or cinder path, which is a rather expensive 

as much as possible. Don't make a race of 
it. Let it be understood that there will be a 
run-home on the last half mile. This will 
be enough for all those who are bound to 

Then occasionally have a paper-chase or a 
hare-and-hound run. The best costume for 
this kind of running is a sweater, jersey, knick- 
erbockers, long stockings, and high tennis-shoes, 
or low ones, if the others are not handy. Al- 
ways take some kind of a bath (a cool, not 
cold, shower is the best), and a rub-down with 
a coarse towel after the run; and always run 
bare-headed. If a boy intends to do track 

affair. In that case select some field with good, 
springy turf, and stake off a quarter-mile track,, 
measuring the distance, of course, on the inside. 

Or, if there is not space enough for that,, 
make it an eighth of a mile (220 yards) track. I 
have seen many a good runner who never set 
foot on a cinder-path except in a race. 

In sprinting, a great deal depends on the 
start. A sprinter should practise five or six 
starts daily, and do two or three short sprints, 
such as thirty and fifty yard dashes. Every other 
day try the whole distance at not quite full 
speed, and never do trials more than once a 
week. The dav before a race no work at all 



should be done. The illustration shows most 
of the different styles of starting. The race 
was a three-hundred-yard dash, and was won 
by Allen, who is at the right in the picture, the 
American champion for the quarter-mile in 1893. 
Allen's start is the one most easily learned. 
Crouch with both hands and the left foot on 
the starting-line. After " getting set," gradually 
swing the body out over the line, the left foot 
sustaining most of the weight, and as the pistol 
goes off spring from both feet, pushing hard 
with the rear foot, dive forward in a crouching 

ner should twice a week run six hundred yards 
fast, or jog a half, and spend the rest of his time 
in sprinting two hundred and twenty or three 
hundred yards. More attention should be paid 
in training for the quarter to the development of 
speed. In the half the case is reversed. The 
runner should run fast quarters or a three-eighths 
(660 yards) only twice a week, and spend the 
rest of his time in distance work, running three 
quarters or jogging a mile. In any kind of 
running never run a trial oftener than once a 
week, and never within five days of the race. 

f \ 


position, and do not try to rise and run erect 
until after the first three or four strides. 

A boy training for the long distance runs 
must make up his, mind to work. The inter- 
scholastic and intercollegiate schedules contain 
no distance over the mile. A miler should 
train over his distance. 

Work out a mile and a quarter, or a mile 
and a half every day at a good steady clip, and 
once a week take a two-mile jog. Vary this 
with a little faster work occasionally, such as 
a fast half or three quarters. 

The middle distances, the half and quarter, 
are the hardest of all to train correctly for. A 
runner, to succeed in these, must possess a 
sprinter's speed and the staying power of the 
distance runner. And the difficulty in train- 
ing is to develop both. A quarter-mile run- 


Below are given the world running records 
up to the mile, and the best records made by 
American boys, i. e., the New England Inter- 
scholastic records. 


Distance. Time. Holder. Nationality. 

100 yds 9± sec. Owen American 

220 yds 21 J sec. Jewett American 

440 yds (on circular track) 48J sec. Tindall English 
440 yds (straight away) . . 47J sec. Baker American 
SSo yds (straight away) . . Im. 53} sec. Hewitt Australian 
880 yds (on circular track) im. 54-f sec. Cross English 
1 mile 4m. 12J sec. George English 


Distance. Time. Holder. School. 

100 yds. lot sec. . Bigelow . Worcester High 

220 yds. 22?- sec. . Bigelow . Worcester High 

440 yds. 50S sec. . Burke. . . . Boston English High 

8S0 yds . 2m. 07J sec . . Batchelder Roxbury Latin 

1 mile.. 4m. 34? sec. . Laing. . . . Philips, Andover 

When King Kijolly goes to war 
He finds the fighting quite a bore, 
But he makes the enemy fly before 
Till they hide away from the battle's roar 
In a little round fort with one front door 

And when that shelter they have sought 
Where cake and candy can't be bought 
They find that in a trap they 're caught. 

But when above the fortress' brim 
Kijolly sees their faces grim — 

How hungry and how tired they look — 
He gives to each a story-book, 
And sugar-cakes, and pumpkin-pie, 
He reaches up to them on high; 
And Punch and Judy shows he gets; 
And if they should look pale he frets — 
In his own carriage takes them out, 
To get the air and drive about. 
At last he gives a farewell tea 
Beneath a merry cherry-tree, 
And bidding them go run and play, 
Good King Kijolly rides away. 

RudolpJi F. Bunner. 


By Garrett Newkirk. 

This State was settled by the French 
And for King Louis named : 

But fifteen million dollars bought 
For us the land they claimed. 

She has a warm and sunny clime, 
Un vexed by frosts or snows, 

And through a delta, like the Nile, 
The Mississippi flows. 

On this our greatest, central stream, 

And very near its mouth, 
The famous "Crescent City" stands, 

Queen city of the South. 

The greatest sugar-making State! — 

New Orleans is its port; 
And here, behind his cotton-bales, 
"Old Hickory" held the fort! 



This State's legislature 

Has made it a law 
That, in speaking her name, 

We must say " Ar-kan-saw." 

Not far from the center 

The Hot Springs are found, 

Where scalding hot water 
Boils up from the ground. 

Her rivers are many, 

Her forests spread wide, 

Her mountains — the Ozarks, 
Are Arkansas' pride. 

The State sells much timber, 
And ore, and live stock ; 

Her capital city 

Is called Little Rock. 

7 8 4 







A Rhyme for Very Little Folks. 

For a whole long week the little pet Pug was as good as he could be, 

He did n't growl at the baby, nor spill his milk at tea ; 

And so, when the Circus came to town, they gave him a silver dime,, 

They put on his Sunday collar, and hoped he 'd have a good time. 

He sat right next to the Lion (who had to have two seats), 

And saw the clever animals perform their wonderful feats : 

Two Poodles drew a Peacock in an elegant golden car, 

While the Owl drove four sleek Rabbits — a livelier team by far; 

Bruin balanced Reynard on a pole placed on his snout ; 

And the Hare danced a sailor's-hornpipe on a Pig that ran about; 

Five Kittens rode in a basket on the back of a Dromedary ; 

While a Cat who walked on stilts was as graceful as a fairy ; 

A Rhinoceros played the organ — the tune was " Upidee." 

But some of the jokes the Cat-clown made the pet Pug could n't see ! 

All this was in the nearest ring, — the other was lively, too: 

To watch them both at once was all the little Pug could do, 

While six performing Pussy cats were making a curious group, 

At the very same time two Monkeys went diving through a hoop. 

Two foreign birds were driven in harness by a Cat, 

But a tiny Frog with a team of Chicks was a queerer sight than that ! 

Another Frog was a juggler and kept five balls in air, 

Yet the Elephant balancing on a ball was the funniest creature there. 

Above, near the top of the Circus tent, the Jocko Brothers bold 

With their daring leaps from the high trapeze made the little Pug's blood 

run cold ! 
Near them hung a Cockatoo, who swung in a lofty ring, 
And who did n't have a thing to do, but laugh at everything. 
At last the band played "Home, Sweet Home," the animals all filed out, 
And the little Pug went trotting away with plenty to talk about. 


So, Pugs, don't growl at the baby, though the baby should pull your ears, 
And maybe you '/I go to the Circus when it comes to your town, my 
dears ! 

Vol. XXII.— 99. 785 




Hurrah for July, my hearers, and for the one 
dear noisy day that it always brings to young and 
old of this great republic ! Don't you feel sorry 
for those poor countries that never had any revo- 
lution to speak of, and so have no honored old 
oppressors to forgive, and no rattlety-bang way of 
expressing themselves on a national holiday ? 

But there were events, I am told, long before 
there was any Fourth of July, as we know it, — and 
events with youngsters and gunpowder in them. 
Did you ever hear of the narrow escape of the 
good ship ''Mayflower" — the same that brought 
your Pilgrim forefathers over from England ? 

Well, in this explosion-loving part of the year 
it may interest all good little boys to know that 
even in the very first ship's company that ever 
landed in New England there was a youngster 
who would fool with gun and powder, and who 
actually came near blowing up the Mayflower ! 

My learned correspondent, Mr. Thomas L. 
Rogers, sends you this stirring and pious account 
of the boy's dangerous performance. It is copied 
from the chronicles of Governor Bradford himself. 

Dec. 5, 1620. 
Through God's mercy we escaped a great danger by 
the foolishness of a boy who had got gunpowder and 
made squibs ; and there being a fowling-piece in his 
father's cabin, charged, he shot her off in the cabin ; there 
being a little barrel of gunpowder half full : [and some] 
scattered in and about the cabin : the fire being within 
four foot of the bed between the decks, and many flints 
and iron things about the cabin, and many people about 
the fire: and yet, by God's mercy, no harm done. 

And now for your edification Mr. Rogers has 
put this incident into clever verse, which he calls 


John Billington, one of the Pilgrim boys, 

Was as full of mischief as an egg is of meat ; 
For causing of trouble, for making a noise, 

And for scaring good people, he could n't be beat. 

He was bad, 

And very sad 
Is the story told of this Pilgrim lad. 

At anchor the staunch old Mayflower lay ; 

The men, led by Standish, were exploring the 
But John was exploring the vessel that day, 
And finding of powder a generous store, 
Just for fun, 
This worthy son 
In one of the cabins fired off a gun. 

Of perils by land and dangers by sea 

The Pilgrims had plenty, — that 's simply the 
But foolish King James, who compelled them to 
Never shocked their poor nerves like this mis- 
chievous youth, 
Who for fun 
Made them all run 
To put out the fire from his terrible gun. 


Dear Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit : When I was a little 
girl I made for my dolls a sea-beach out of an old mirror. 
Over the worst part of the glass I pasted brown paper, 
and upon this I glued a lot of sand to form the beach. The 
part of looking-glass that was left bare represented the 
water. I formed the btach's edge into several little 
coves, in which I tied toy boats. Then I sprinkled a 
layer of loose sand over the beach, also many tiny 
shells, pebbles, and bits of sea moss. I placed my small- 
est dolls here and there on the beach, and I really think 
they enjoyed their summer by the sea. Some of them 
even had tiny pails and shovels for playing in the sand, 
and they looked very pretty as they sat there bending 
over their little heaps of sand. I hope some of your 
little folks will make their dolls happy in this way. 

Yours truly, Alice May Douglass. 


Yes, natural fireworks; and you may be sure 
they really occurred, for the fact was related by the 
great Mr. Charles Darwin, an observer who never 
saw stars that were not there. In his famous book 
"The Voyage of the 'Beagle'" the dear Little 
Schoolma'am has found this passage : 

As soon as we entered the estuary of the Plata [the 
Rio de la Plata] the weather was very unsettled. One 
dark night we were surrounded by numerous seals and 
penguins, which made such strange noises that the 
officer on watch reported he could hear the cattle bel- 
lowing on shore. On a second night we witnessed a 
splendid display of natural fireworks : the mast-head and 
yard-arm-ends shone with St. Elmo's light ; and the 
form of the vane could almost be traced, as if it had been 
rubbed with phosphorus. The sea was so highly lumin- 
ous that the tracks of the penguins were marked by 
fiery wakes, and the darkness of the sky was momentarily 
illuminated by the most vivid lightning. 

And the Deacon kindly adds : " Every boy 
knows what St. Elmo's light is; and if he does n't, 
he can find out by inquiring of the nearest dic- 

:/.-T KTB-i LE^Mb) : : i^ E ©AMP "u 3 o 

It was a valiant regiment, and numbered forty-four; 
It marched upon the table and it marched upon the floor ; 
And every soldier's rank and name the gallant colonel knew 
(Each soldier was an inch in height, the colonel three feet two). 
First came a pink-faced officer who rode upon a horse, 
And then the sturdy rank and file (at " shoulder arms," of course). 
" They follow me where'er I lead," the gallant colonel said ; 
And any one at once perceived they one and all were lead ! 
In many a deadly ambush the regiment was caught, 
And many a bloody battle with the Indians they fought; 
But it could not help but make your pulses give a sudden thrill 
To see the reckless charges that they made while standing still ; 
And when the colonel tired, which I must confess was soon, 
He left them on the table the entire afternoon. 
But they never winked an eyelid for anything I know, 
For he found them just at bedtime standing stiffly in a row; 
And it seemed too bad to move them, they were such a stirring sight, 
So the colonel left them standing the remainder of the night. 
O gallant leaden regiment, such faithful watch to keep, 
Never moving, never speaking, while your colonel was asleep ! 
And the feeling never entered in a single loyal head, 
That life 's not worth the living to a soldier made of lead ! 

Guy Weimore Carry!. 



Mr. J. EdmundV. Cooke, known to St. Nicho- 
las readers by his contributions in verse, has pub- 
lished a number of his poems in book form under 
the title " A Patch of Pansies." We take pleasure 
in calling the attention of our older readers to this 
attractive volume. 

a remarkable latin sentence. 

London, Ont. 

Dear St. Nicholas : While at a friend's house, I 
happened to take up a paper, and in it I found this sen- 
tence in Latin : Sator arepo tenet opera iotas. 

It is not certain how it should be translated, and very 
likely the words do not make good sense. But if it is 
senseless, it has these peculiarities : I, it spells backward 
and forward the same ; 2, the first letter of each word spells 
the first word; the second letter the second word, and so 
on with the third and fourth; 3, the last letters, reading 
backward, spell the first word; and the next to the last 
in each word spells the second word, and so on through- 
out ; 4, there are as many letters in each word as there 
are words. 

I am glad school is nearly over, for I am tired of study, 
study, study, and nothing else. While the holidays are 
lasting I mean to enjoy myself as much as I can, and I 
am not going to open a single school-book all through the 

One day a girl in another class brought a horned toad 
to school, and I had the pleasure of seeing it. She brought 
it because it was wanted for the zoology class. 

Wishing you the best of success, I remain one of your 
readers, Lucy M . 

Vernon, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a Western boy. I live in 
the Texas Panhandle, just at the foot of the Staked Plains. I 
liked the story in the November number, called " Locoed," 
very much. I visited my uncle at Canon City, twenty 
miles from Amarilla. We went down into the canon ; we 
saw a large black bear. One day some hunters found in 
the canon the bones of a man who had lain there a long 
time. His gun was on the ground nearby, and on the gun- 
stock was carved in rough letters, with a knife, the name 
John Nixon. My uncle gave the gun to me. On our 
way home we stopped two days in Amarilla. 

Your little reader, 
Gilbert T . 

Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you for a long 
time and we are very glad each month when you come. 
We want to tell you something we think very funny. 
One day our little brother was being punished. He asked 
mother what she looked so solemn for, and she said that 
she was thinking of the times he was naughty; and he 
said, " Why don't you think of the times I am good ? " 

Your readers, Katharine and Nathalie M . 

best magazine for children that ever was. We are proud 
of the bound volumes which ornament our book-shelves. 
When we were in Switzerland last summer we spent one 
night at a little lonely inn, and almost the first thing we 
saw, when we entered the living-room, was a copy of the 
July number of the St. Nicholas lying on the table; so 
the sight of it made us feel quite at home. 

We have lived very little in America, as mama is obliged 
to travel for her health. 

We are very fond of pets and we have a great many 
canary birds, but the nicest one of them all died last week. 
We were very " triste " to find he was dead, as we were 
so fond of our dear little " Croquette." 

My sister and I lived for three years at a convent in 
Paris ; while we were there we learned to play on the 
piano and organ. My sister has a lovely voice, and I 
am taking lessons on the mandolin, so I can accompany 
her when she sings. I find it very hard to make rapid 
progress, as it is such a difficult instrument to play on 
well. Truly yours, 

Sussette and Aggie. 

Buffalo, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought that some of your 
readers might like to hear about a little Italian news- 
hoy, who seems to have adopted my father. Every 
night, about five o'clock, he goes into papa's office, and 
after selling him a paper amuses himself until it is lime for 
papa to start home. Sometimes he plays marbles, and 
sometimes he spins a top; but when papa starts, no 
matter what he is doing, he gathers up his things and 
goes with him without a word. He always walks two 
or three blocks and then says good-by. I think this is 
such a funny thing for him to do, and I hope it will 
amuse some of your readers when it is printed in the 
Letter-box. Your loving reader, M. K . 

Boston, Mass. 
My dear St. Nicholas : Our family have taken your 
delightful magazine for ten years, and we all think it is the 

Coldwater, O. T. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write you 
a letter from the Cherokee Strip. We live in Garfield 
County, twenty miles from Enid, on a nice creek. Our 
place is about one third bottom-land and the rest is rough. 
The country around is mostly high hills cut up with deep 
canons. In one canon is a big Cottonwood tree sixty 
feet high and four feet and a half in diameter. When 
the strip was opened the canons were most of them full 
of trees, but they are nearly all gone now. We moved 
to our place last April. I was down soon after the race 
and stayed three weeks, and camped out all the time. I 
am thirteen years old and have been through the Practical 
Arithmetic, but did not go to school last winter. I have 
a nice horse named Kate. She is very intelligent, and 
when I plow she crowds the other horses, so she makes 
the plow run lighter. Papa is a country doctor, and I 
do the farm work. I like Hornaday's "Animals of North 
America" and think the pictures are fine. Last fall my 
sister and I found a ferret in the dog town, and knew it 
at once by the picture in St. Nicholas. We have taken 
St. Nicholas two years and don't see how we could do 
without it. Your friend, 

Bob K . 



8 9 

Here is a letter from Canada written by a loyal native 
of the United States, who has been proud to honor the 
memory of some brave soldiers. We are sure our 
readers will agree with us in heartily commending the 
patriotic tribute this American girl and her friends have 
rendered to the fallen heroes : 

Cap Rouge, Quebec, Canada. 

My dear St. Nicholas: I am about to tell you of 
an event which I think will interest some of our patriotic 
young countrymen. 

One evening last December papa saw in the Quebec 
papers that workmen in repairing the floor of an old mili- 
tary prison, now the military store-house, had unearthed 
the bones of thirteen soldiers who were killed in the at- 
tack on Quebec early in the morning of December 31, 
1775, with their general, the brave Montgomery. 

A few days afterward papa took my sister and me to 
visit these old buildings. An old soldier in charge, named 
Lewis, gladly showed us through the funny old stone 
structure which backs into the earth of the fortification 
walls with its dark narrow passages, the little half-un- 

museum in Quebec, but the other still remains where it 
was first laid. 

We asked papa to let us raise a subscription among 
our young American friends, to place a tablet in the wall 
of the building to the memory of these poor soldiers. 

In a short time we received a large enough amount, 
and the tablet is now being made. It will bear this in- 
scription : 

" Beneath this tablet repose the remains of thirteen 
American soldiers of General Montgomery's army, who 
were killed in the assault on Quebec, December 31, 1775. 
Placed to their memory by several American children." 

In the citadel is a little brass cannon which was cap- 
tured from the Americans by the British at Bunker Hill. 
But, as was said by a young American lady, to whom it 
was shown by the young officer, " You have the cannon, 
but we have Bunker Hill." 

Quebec is everywhere full of historical associations, 
and we are now living on the spot where the first Euro- 
pean colony was attempted on this continent as early as 
1542 by Jacques Cartier and Roberval. Later it was 
held as an outpost by the Americans in 1775. 

Yours sincerely, Frances I. Fairchild. 

i. ^x^fl-frtu -fe'.c?; 

T- ; '--- 


,'„ : s#**3 




: ^^^^)^S!0^i 

Ifr 1 


derground cells, and the room in which the remains of 
the soldiers were reinterred. 

He also showed us a rusty pair of scissors found at the 
side of one of the bodies, just about where the breast- 
pocket of his uniform would be. 

The bodies of General Montgomery and his two aides- 
de-camp were buried just outside of the walls of this build- 
ing, but the general's remains were removed in 1818 to 
New York city, and reburied under a monument in the 
rear of St. Paul's Church. 

The body of one of his aides is now in the military 

Orphan House, Cooperstown. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have, through a kind friend, 
taken St. Nicholas three years ; but during that time 
I have never seen in it a letter from Cooperstown, 
and especially from an orphanage, and I hope this one 
will be published. This is an orphan house that was 
founded by Susan Fenimore Cooper. All of your readers 
must know who Miss Cooper was, for she wrote many 
stories for St. Nicholas ; indeed, one of her last stories, 
entitled, " The Cherry-Colored Purse," was written for 
the St. Nicholas. One week from the time she gave 



us such a happy Christmas she died. She loved us all 
very much. All of us who are old enough help do the 
work and go to school. 

We have a donkey here, which we bought with money 
we earned by selling flowers, and now we sell more flow- 
ers with her help. She draws a cartful around ; and 
one of us sells them. We have two carts for her — one 
that we call her work-cart, and one that we use when we 
ride out. Besides these we have a little deer-sleigh, that 
the same kind friend who presented you gave us. 

We gave an entertainment here, consisting of drills, 
marches, and songs. We sold fancy and useful articles. 
" Miss Muggs'," the donkey's, pictures were also on sale. 

Your stories are very interesting. I like " Toinette's 
Philip," " Lady Jane," and the short stories, especially 
" Owney of the Mail-car." Your stories of natural his- 
tory are also very interesting. 

We all remain your most faithful readers, Lena V. 
T , for all of the children at the orphanage. 

Cooperstown, Otsego Co. 

Dear St. Nicholas: As we never have seen any 
letter from here, we thought you would like to know 
about some of your readers. We all like "Jack Ballis- 
ter's Fortunes," " Chris and the Wonderful Lamp," and 
the " Boy of the First Empire." 

We are two boys of the orphanage which Miss Susan 
Fenimore Cooper founded. Miss Cooper always liked 
children, and the children always called her their " Orphan 

Miss Cooper used to write stories for your magazine, 
and before St. Nicholas included "Wide Awake" she 
wrote for that. 

The last story of hers in your magazine was "The 
Cherry-Colored Purse." We have a donkey we call 
" Muggs," and a nice cart for her. 

We have two base-ball teams — one we named, after 
Miss Cooper, the S. F. C. We bought our suits by sell- 
ing nuts. We now close. Your loving readers. 

Francis J. I . 

Leslie E. O . 

Bishop Robertson Hall, St. Louis, Mo. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In all the letters I have seen 
in the box there have been so few from army girls, that I 
thought I would write. My papa is a captain in the Eighth 
Regiment of cavalry, which has been stationed for some 
time at Fort Meade, South Dakota. 

Papa is on detached service and has been at Jeffer- 
son Barracks, but expects to rejoin his regiment soon. 

I go to Jefferson Barracks every week, although I am 
at boarding-school, leaving here Friday afternoon and 
returning Monday morning in time for school, boarding 
through the week. I am writing from school. 

Last year Virginia W and I roomed together. Per- 
haps you may remember that you printed a letter from her 
some time ago. I do not remember just when. It seemed 
so funny, we were such friends, and both Virginias ; one 
from the army and one from the navy. 

We were called " Big V " and "Little V" to distinguish 
us — she being larger as well as older than I. She has 
gone away now, and I miss her more than you can think. 
I remain a faithful reader, Virginia J . 

St. Paul, Minn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I noticed, in the May number 
for 1895 in the " Rhymes of the States" on page 611, 
the foot-note giving the meaning of Minnesota. Ac- 
cording to Neill's " History of Minnesota " it is not cor- 
rect. The following extract is taken from Neill's history, 
on page 51 of the introduction : 

" From the fact that the word signifies neither white 
nor blue, but the peculiar appearance of the sky on cer- 
tain days, the Historical Society publications define Min- 
nesota to mean the sky-tinted water, which is certainly 
poetic, and, according to Gideon H. Pond, one of the 
best Dakota scholars, correct." 

I have never written to you before, although you have 
been in our family since 1873. I loved the stories of 
" Toinette's Philip" and "Lady Jane," and am enjoying 
" Chris and the Wonderful Lamp " and " The Boy of the 
First Empire " very much. 

Your devoted admirer, Helen D . 

We thank our vigilant young correspondent, whose 
letter is certainly very convincing. But there are wide 
differences of opinion among authorities upon the mean- 
ing of Minnesota. Townsend in his book " U. S." gives 
(page 59) five meanings to"sota" — muddy, clear, green 
turbid, blear; Rand and McNally's atlas gives cloudy. 

In fact, authorities differ so that one may well doubt 
which is the true meaning, or whether the true meaning 
is known with certainty. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to write and tell you 
what my little sisters said a good while ago. The elder 
is Katharine, and the other is Ellen. Katharine took 
something Ellen did not wish her to have, and she said, 
screwing her face up: "Katharine, papa read in the 
Bible this morning, ' Thou shalt not steal.' " 

" Yes," answered Katharine, " and he also read, 'Thou 
shalt not wear false faces against thy neighbor.' " 

Hoping you will print this, I remain your loving little 
friend, ' Frances H. Mel . 

Canajoharie, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write to you 
and tell you about my papa's Indian collection and other 
old things. He has one large room of which the walls are 
entirely covered with Indian relics. Over the walls there 
is a small shelf which extends all around the room, and 
upon that stands antique china. The room is furnished 
with old furniture, and he has some old chairs that were 
in Washington's study. I remain your loving reader, 

E. Adele R . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Horace H. F., 
Harry M., Helen E. M., S. Emerson K., Margaret D. 
C, Bettie and Pattie H., Nannie H., Elinor R. F., Mar- 
garet S.,Winfield and Stanley S. A., Esther V., Sally 
H., Ollie M. P., Townsend K. W., Willetta B., Marion 
A. B., Arthur A., Lottie M. P., Jessie K., Edwin B. F., 
Anna M. McK., Erie K., Bessie, Harriet S., Julia C, 
Florence A. H. , Annie H., C. A. S., Olive W. S., Douglas 
C. S., Bertha I., Nathalie H., Louise I. 


Octagon, i. Ram. 2. Rabid. 3. Abide. 4. Middy. 5. Dey. 

Oblique Rectangle, i. S. 2. Ate. 3. Story. 4. Error. 5. Yojan. 
6. Raked. 7. Negus. 8. Duped. 9. Sepia. 10. Dirge, ir. Agist. 
12. Essay. 13. Tan. 14. Y. 

Diamonds. I. 1. S. 2. Lug\ 3. Lamia. 4. Summary. 5. Giant. 
6. Art. 7. Y. II. 1 F. 2. Rid. 3. Raced. 4. Fiction. 5. Deign. 
6. Don. 7. N. 

Zigzag. "Sick Man of the East." 1. Stop. 2. Sign. 3. Rice. 
4. Peck. 5. Some. 6. Part. 7. Nine. S. Foot. 9. Rift. 10. Grit. 
11. Echo. 12. Rear. 13. Espy. 14. Nail. 15. Fuss. 16. Plot. 

Illustrated Puzzle. Steam. 1. Mast. 2. Am. 3. Mat. 4. At. 

5. Mate. 6. Sea. 7. Eat. 8. Me. 9. Tea. 10. Meat. 11. Seat. 

12. Team. 13. Tame. Charade. Mend-i-cant. 

Tree Puzzle. Beech, palm, spruce, fir, pine, pear, apple, plum, 
olive, hickory, rose-wood, as-pen, bay, sweet gum, fig, will-ow. 

Double Acrostic. Benjamin Franklin. Cross-words: 1. Bluff. 
2. Enter. 3. Noria. 4. Japan. 5. Alack. 6. Medal. 7. Iceni. 
8. Nisan. 

Labyrinth of Proverbs. Begin at the middle letter, N, and 
follow an almost spiral path. None are so deaf as those who will 
not hear. Think twice before you speak once. New brooms 
sweep clean. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 15th, from Mary Lester and Harry — Ella and 
Co. — Arthur Gride — Josephine Sherwood — Helen C. McCleary — L. O. E. — M. McG. — Alice Mildred Blanke and Co. — Paul Reese — 
J. T. S. and W. L. S.— George Bancroft Fernald — \V. L. — Mary and Virgie — Mama and Jamie — G. B. D. and M. — No Name, 
" Back Bay " — "Jersey Quartette "— " Lord Clive " — Charles Remington Adams — Grace L. Van B. Gray — Mabel Snow and Dorothy 
Swinburne — " Delaware " — Emma S. Jervey — Addison Neil Clark — " Two Romans " — Charles Travis — Kenyon N. — Helen Rogers — 
"Hilltop Farm" — Maggie Hopkins — "A Family Affair" — Fay A. Merrick — Edith, Jo, and Betty — Effie K. Talboys — "A Proud 
Pair" — " Four Weeks of Kane " — Alice W. Gibson — Jo and I — Walter L. Haight — Blanche and Fred — The Spencers — Franklyn 
Farnsworth — Louise Ingham Adams — " Brownie Band" — " Alpha Tau Omicron " — Ruth — Sigourr.ey Fay Nininger — Isabel H. 
Noble — Eddie N. Moore — Kate S. Doty and Hilda V. K. Swift — " Jacobii "—"Dad and Bill" — Sarah S. Field—" Duck"— Two little 
Brothers — Fred and Gordon Brown — Florence and Grandma — "Tod and Yam" — Jack and George A. — Harry and Roy Williams — 
Robert S. Clement — Harry and Helene — Harry Powell — Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 15th, from Edna Juhring, 1 — S. J. S. and E. D. 
S-, Jr., 2 — B. G. M., 1 — " Grasshopper," 1 — Frank Lyon, 1 — G. B. Dyer, 9 — Rohert Smith, 1 — Elise R. F., 2 — M. R. Everett, 1 — 
Bemice Bell, 1 — M. A. Stinson, 1 — J. W. Stinson, 1 — Madeleine Johnson, 1 — Lillie Hay, 1 — Victor J. West, 5 — H. A. P., New- 
ark, 1 — Mama and Sadie, 10 — Louisa Du Brul, 3 — Lucile Talbot, 2 — Mamie Hobson and Undine Kelts, 2 — John R. Kuhlke, 2 — 
Mother and I, 3 — Willie, Ruth, Johnny, and Manan Cutter, 4 — Claude Rakestraw, 1 — " Patrick," 1 — Mary Stickney, to — Helen A. 
Choate, 7 — A. E. and H. G. E., 10 — Fritzie Comstock, 1 — Eugene T. Walter, 3 — Fred S. Ackley, 1 — Mary F. Stone, 7 — Wm. J. 
Howell, 1 — Harold A Fisher, 4 — " Trilby," 4 — Grace Smith and Anne Smart, 4 — Tommy, Billy, and Charley, 6 — Eddie Moorell, 1 — 
Violet Smith Green, 8 — Everett W. Nourse, 4 — Jessie Buchanan, 4 — John W. Brotherton, 4 — H. A. Sparkman, 3 — Madge Tomp- 
son, 1 — Reiki Miriam Low, 3 — F. F. de R., 1 — Jeanne, 8 — Mama, Edward, and Harriet, 10 — Agnes Jones, 1 — N. P. S., 7 — 
Marion C. Hubbard, 1 — G. S. Corlew, 1 — Rosebud E. Hecht, 6 — Lottie Sjostedt, 5 — Grace Busenbark, 1 — Stuart Hay, 1 — Irma 
F. Rothschild, 1 — Carrie de F. P., 1 — E. de L. Q., 6 — M. Riney, 3 — Lucy, Marjorie, and Murray, 5 — Katharine D. Hull, 1 — M. S. 
Williams, 2 — Gladys Peck, 2 — Allan W. Pattee, 1 — Adelaide M. Gaither, S — Marguerite Sturdy, 10 — Paul Rowley, 10 — No Name, 
Newport, 2 — Rasty H., 9 — C. F. Barrows, 4 — "The Butterflies," 10 — Debe, 1 — A. K. P., 2 — W. S. and S. S. Aberrender, 5 — 
Dudley Willcox, 1 — Azro and Charles Lewis, 5 — Oskytel H. C, 3 — W. Putnam, 4 — M. and A. Bright, 2 — Mama and Margaret, 5 
— W. W. Middleton and R. B. Creecy, 3 — Mary C. and Bessie W., 9 — Sybil Palgrave, 3 — Herr Tiemann, 2 — Elma T. Darby, 2 — 
" Lany and I," Scran ton, 7 — Laura and Virginia, 5 — Burtie Benham, 3 — Sadie W. Hubbard, o — Albert Smith Faught, 7 — Anna and 
Jean Eisenhower, 11 — Lucy and Eddie H., 3 — Mary McKee, 4 — Dudley, Minnie, and George, 8 — "Two Solomons," 8 — " Merry 
and Co.," 10 — Clara A. Anthony, 8 — G. F. and E. F., 10 — Laura M. Zinser, 9 — M. R. Kennedy, 5 — Bob Bright, 8 — Paul 
Schmidt, 5 — Alice M. Kurtz, 4 — Marjory Gane, 9 — David S. Pratt, 9 — Lewis and Fanny Kollock, 8 — " WeGirls," 1 — The J's, 2 — 
Karl G. Smith, 1 — Katie and Charlie, 5 — Harry Mather, 1 — Melville Dale, 3 — "Nemo," 6 — Jean D. Egleston, 8 — Emma L. 
Garrison, 2 — " Embla," 10. 


All of the words described contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one 
below another, in the order here given, the first row 
of letters will spell the name of a famous American 
frigate, and the third row, the name given to her in a 
famous poem. 

Cross-words : 1. To murmur softly. 2. One who 
ogles. 3. The Arctic fulmar. 4. A very large nail. 
5. Fatigued. 6. Graven images. 7. Stretched tightly. 
S. To rip apart. 9. Hackneyed. 10. A country in 
Southern Asia. 11. Fleshy. 12. Pertaining to the nose. 

l. w. 

Washington (three words). 10. A vessel and its name, 
always associated with the Pilgrim Fathers (two words). 
II. The name of the twelfth president of the Linked 
States (two words). 12. An inlet of the Atlantic Ocean, 
in Virginia and Maryland (two words). 13. The "Old 
Bay State" (one word). "BRONX." 


All of the thirteen cross-words contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one 
below another in the order here given, the diagonal (be- 
ginning at the upper, left-hand letter, and ending with 
the lower right-hand letter), will spell two familiar words. 

Cross-words: i. One of the Southern States (two 
words). 2. A famous orator, born in New Hampshire 
(two words). 3. A general name given to one of the 
early settlers of New York (one word). 4. An old name 
for New York (two words). 5. An invention for com- 
municating with people at a distance, preceded by the 
name of its inventor (two words). 6. The body of water 
between South Carolina and Georgia (two words). 7. A 
famous cargo carried by the "Great Eastern" (two 
words). 8. An important water-way of Maine (two 
words). 9. The most famous residence in the city of 

The diagonals, from 1 to 2 and from 3 to 4, both spell 
the name of the same celebrated Frenchman. 

Cross-words: i. To take the dimensions of. 2. To 
command. 3. An untruth. 4. In fiddle. 5. A shel- 
tered place. 6. Not the same. 7. An official command. 


I. In buoy. 2. A woman devoted to a religious life. 
3. Celebrated. 4. An apartment in a house where 
butter and milk are kept. 5. Very poor. 6. Free 
from moisture. 7. In buoy. "UNCLE WILL." 




Select one letter from every word, and spell out the 
name of a President of the United States from each of 
the following sentences. 

Example: aCt weLl Every liVly comEdy tiLl All 
eNds spIenDidly. Answer, Cleveland. 

i. Rejoice over these friendly strangers and treat them 

2. Well, this certainly looks beautiful ; and my mother 
shall have for her birthday something more novel. 

3. Major Carter remarked more especially about sup- 
plying all our footmen with some cold dinners. 

4. Great men sometimes are discouraged, even with 
small things, which might only encourage others to 

5. If your family never lacked shelter in any perilous 
time, they are lucky indeed. 

6. Just ask my sister ; she makes plenty of children's 
frocks. H. \v. E. 


Each of the twelve small pictures may be described 
by a single word. When these words have been rightly 
guessed and placed one below another, in the order in 
which they are numbered, the initial letters will spell 
the name of an intrepid American general born in 1745. 


Place two letters before the following syllables, and 
they will form words, according to sound. When the 
figure 2 or 3 follows the syllable, it shows that there are 
2 or 3 different combinations of letters that may be used. 
Example, gy (2). Answer, 1-e-gy, or f-e-gy. Example, 
phant. Answer. 1-e-phant. 

1. Ment. 2. Vate. 3. Arv (2). 4. Teric (2). 5. Rior. 
6. Late. 7. Cle (3). 8. Ate (3). 9. Nate. 10. Fy. 

11. Dine. 12. Ry. 13. Cute. 14. Cent. 15. Lent. 
16. Ent. 17. Ing. 18. Tial. 19. Gant. 20. Dite. 21. Rate. 
22. Anic. 23. Thing. 24. Did. 25. Metric. 26. Dide. 
27. Ficial. 28. Quent. 29. Inate. 30. Grant. 31. Plify. 
32. Rience. j. E. sharwood 


1 , 28 4 * » * » * 5 9*8 

* * * * * * 

2 * * * 3 6**^7 
26 , 27 10 , II 

25 * 24 







From 1 to 2, a brief sleep ; from 2 to 3, to ward off; 
from 3 to 4, a vegetable ; from 4 to 5, a very large num- 
ber ; from 5 to 6, a feminine nickname ; from 6 to 7, a 
country in South Africa; from 7 to 8, a sheltered place; 
from 8 to 9, a long space of time ; from 9 to 10, an inden- 
tation ; 10 to II, a covering for the head; from II to 12, 
a straight line touching a curved one ; from 12 to 13, a 
metal; from 13 to 14, a' point of the compass; from 14 
to 15, a coal-scuttle; from 15 to 16, suitable; from 16 to 
17, a fault; from 17 to 18, a bone ; from 18 to 19, gold 
or silver in the mass ; from 19 to 20, a conjunction ; from 
20 to 21, ceremonies; from 21 to 22, the juice of plants; 
from 22 to 23, full value ; from 23 to 24, fixed allow- 
ances ; from 24 to 25, a drunkard ; from 25 to 26, extreme 
pain ; from 26 to 27, a masculine nickname; from 27 to 
28, to wed; from 28 to 1, at a distance, but within view. 



- rot — car — net — 

Bul — bon — let — pup — out - 
son — dam — cut — pet — par. 

Out of these thirteen syllables form thirteen two-sylla- 
bled words meaning: I. The Persian nightingale. 2. A 
tropical bird. 3. A vegetable. 4. A clergyman. 5. A 
covering for the floor. 6. A small ball. 7. A covering 
for the head. 8. A small piece of meat. 9. A variety 
of plum. 10. An exit. 11. A short poem. 12. A doll. 
13. A sugarplum. pleasant e. todd. 


I. To wind or fold together. 2. A stout cord. 3. 
Mimics. 4. That which is troublesome or destructive. 


Begin with a single letter, and add one letter at a 
time, rearranging them to form the required words. 

1. A letter. 2. A preposition. 3. A heavy weight. 4. A 
brief communication. 5. Softens. 6. A short poem. 
7. Intense effort. 8. Certain annuities. 9. Balms. 





Vol. XXII. 

AUGUST, 1895. 

No. 10. 


By Cromwell Galpin. 

In the wide door of the barn which was 
almost in the center of what had been the great 
Ybarros ranch, the foreman of the Foster stock- 
farm stood talking to Harry Shallten, who had 
■come down from San Francisco for a visit to his 
uncle, and a week's hunting in the Cahuenga 

" Ah tell 'e, Maaster 'Arry," said the man, 
" as 'ow we 've 'orses 'ere as 'u'd make 'em 
.•stare at 'ome." 

He crooked a big forefinger at a groom, and 
pointed to a horse in a loose box at the farther 
■end of the barn. 

" Put 'is togs on 'Don Sancho'," he said; and 
a minute later the man led out a big bay 
thoroughbred dancing and pawing and tugging 
at the heavy hand that grasped the bit. 

" That there 's an 'orse," said the proud 
stable-manager, " as there is n't nothink finer. 
Sixteen 'ands an' a hinch 'e is — a son of Im- 
ported 'Australian.' We 're trainin' of 'im for 
the spring meetin'. I don't suppose, now, 
Maaster 'Arry, as 'ow you would n't 'ave no 
objections to a-exercisin' of 'im yoursel' this 
mornin' ? " 

Harry had not the least objection. He 
sprang into the saddle as the groom led the 

Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co. 


animal up, and wheeled him around once or 
twice while he listened to the foreman's 

" Wen 'e gets the kinks out of 'is legs," said 
that autocrat, " give 'im five mile not very 'ard, 
an' one mile 'ard enow to bring 'im in b'ilin' 'ot." 
And as the horse saw the straight road before 
him, and felt the reins slacken a little, he dashed 
off with the burst of speed the young thorough- 
bred horse uses to " get the kinks out of his 
legs " after standing for twenty-four hours in 
a twelve-foot stall. 

A few minutes later Harry pulled his horse 
down to a jumpy walk, and reached out his 
hand to take a letter from a man who had been 
to town for the mail. Opening the envelope 
with one hand and his teeth, he saw that the 
letter was from his father, and read, among 
other things, this paragraph : 

The redemption of the Heindel mortgage expires at 
noon on February 17. See that the sheriff's deed is filed 
for record at once. Don't let them get ahead of you. 

The words at once were doubly underscored. 

The letter had been delayed, and it was then 
ten o'clock on the morning of the seventeenth. 
As it was a long fifteen miles to Los Angeles, 

All rights reserved. 


Harry decided to start immediately, and to take 
the old trail across the hills of the Ybarros 
ranch, which was a little shorter than the main 

He soon found his saddle too loose for hill 
riding, and dismounted to tighten the girth, 
only to learn that some careless groom had 
changed surcingles, and that the one he was 
using was too long. He dared not try to re- 
mount, for fear the saddle would turn with him. 
He saw some buildings ahead, and walked 
toward them, leading the horse. He came to 
a rather tumble-down barn, of adobe, near 
which stood a young man of sturdy figure, and 
a girl somewhat younger. 

" Good morning, sir," said young Shallten. 
" Have you a harness-punch ? My girth 's loose, 
and it 's buckled in the farthest hole now." 

" Maybe I can fix it with my knife," said the 
young man, proceeding to do so. 

'• Please hurry up," said Shallten. " I 've got 
to get to the court-house by noon to record a 
deed, and I don't want to crowd my horse too 

" All right," said the other, pulling up the 
girth and buckling it ; " you '11 have to move 
along pretty lively." 

The impatient horse had touched his foamy 
mouth against the young man's shoulder. 
Harry drew from his pocket an old newspaper, 
wiped off the bit of foam, threw down the 
paper, and, with a hurried " Much obliged," 
mounted and rode down the hill. 

After a time Heinrich Heindel picked up the 
newspaper, and as he smoothed it out his eye 
caught the word " Heindel." 

" Why," he said, " here 's our name ! " 

He looked at the paper for a moment, and 
then turned very pale. 

" Our land 's sold," he said. 

His whole body grew rigid, and when he tried 
to speak he made only a clicking noise in his 
throat. It was an unspeakable disappointment 
to lose their farm just when, by the hardest of 
work and the sternest self-denial, they had ob- 
tained the money necessary to pay the mortgage. 

His sister Manuela grasped the paper, and, 



looking over her brother's shoulder, read the 

" Pinto, " painted," in Spanish, is applied to black or bay horses splotched with white 
more intelligent and more enduring than other broncos. 

formal notice of sale, under foreclosure, of that 
part of the Ybarros ranch known as " the 
Heindel place." After the description of the 
land came the date of sale. 

" The 17th of August," she read; " that 's six 
months ago — six months to-day! Heinrich!" 
she said, and her voice rose almost to a scream. 
" Don't you see ? It 's six months from the 
sale we had to redeem in ; not six months 
from the time you saw the lawyer. It 's our 
land that young man is going after; he said 
he 'd got to be there by noon. Get the saddle 
on ' Two-eyes ' ! " And she ran to the house 
for the hoarded money. 

Heinrich's power of movement came back to 
him, and with it more than his usual quickness 
of thought. His brother Felipe was forty 
pounds lighter than he, and in a fifteen-mile 
run forty pounds means everything, almost, to 
the horse that carries it. 

He put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled 
shrilly. Felipe, working among the pea-vines 
high up on the hill, looked down to see Manuela 
running to the house, and Heinrich running out 
to where the pinto* horse they called Two-eyes 
was picketed. Then he caught the flash of a 
knife as Heinrich cut the stake-rope, and has- 
tened down to meet Manuela bringing back 
the money-belt — the family savings-bank — and 
to see Heinrich throw the saddle upon Two-eyes. 

Manuela buckled the old-fashioned money- 
belt about Felipe's waist, as Heinrich tied the 
cinch and talked. 

" We 've figured wrong, and our time 's up 
at noon. A fellow with the deed to our land 
is going to the court-house to record it. He 's 
riding one of the Foster race-horses. Maybe 
you can beat him. Keep cool — ride hard — 
don't quit till you 're dead." And before Hein- 
rich had ceased to speak, Felipe had mounted, 
and Two-eyes was galloping away. 

Instead of keeping cool, Felipe began the 
long race by running his horse down a steep 
hill. At the foot of it old " Apache Tomas " 
stepped out from the tall weeds and brush by 
the roadside, and Felipe avoided running over 
him only by a jerk on the Spanish bit which 
brought Two-eyes back upon his haunches. 

they are considered 

i8 9 s-] 



"How!" said Tomas. He reached out a 
great bony hand, and grasped the bridle. 

"£/ caballo grande — tcngo que ganai lo!" 
(The great horse — I must catch him ! ) said 
Felipe, breathlessly. 

" Ugh ! " said Tomas ; " caballo chiquito — sillo 
grande — abaja se" (Little horse — great saddle 
— get down). 

As he spoke, the Indian put his hand under 

tied another knot in the doubled reata, and 
passed the free ends twice around the horse's 
body, tying a solid knot at the withers, and 
leaving the ends hanging. 

The bewildered boy, suddenly lifted to the 
horse's back, half instinctively, half in response 
to the Indian's unspoken direction, thrust his 
legs under the rope encircling the horse's body, 
and gathered up the improvised reins. 


the saddle-flap and untied the cinch-strap, and 
Felipe slid to the ground as the saddle came 

Apache Tomas's usually wooden head had 
come to life. His eyes glowed like coals which 
the sea-breeze has waked to sudden brightness, 
and his nostrils quivered like those of a mus- 
tang which smells smoke when the valley grass 
is dry. The Heindels were his good friends. 

As the saddle fell to the ground, Tomas 
snatched the reata coiled about the pommel, 
pulled off the bridle, and put the middle of the 
hair-rope into the horse's mouth, tying it under 
his jaw. Four feet from the horse's nose he 

To his surprise, the Indian wheeled the horse 
back toward home, but, before Felipe could 
offer resistance or objection, turned sharply to 
the left and began to climb the steep hill. He 
followed the well-known trail to a point within 
a few yards of the top, then abandoned it for 
what seemed to Felipe an unmarked route 
through the thick mountain brush. There 
were marks enough, however, for the Indian's 
guidance, and fifteen minutes' traveling brought 
them to the road on the opposite side of the 

Apache Tomas was puffing and his face was 
scratched, but he had saved his friend four long 

79 s 



miles around the projecting spur of the mount- 
ain, and he seemed well satisfied. 

He looked back, and saw the big bay horse 
a quarter of a mile in the rear. He swung his 
arm over his head. 

" Mucho caballo/" (Good horse!) he said. 
•• Hi — i — i!" 

The last noise was such as only an Apache 
makes or can make — a note high, quavering, 
unmusical, and penetrating. As he uttered it 
the Indian struck the horse with his open palm. 

Does a horse remember ? 

There had been times when the doubled reata 
around Two-eyes's body had been drawn tight 
by the naked legs of the young savage who 
bestrode him; when every warrior of an Apache 
tribe had uttered that same penetrating cry, 
and all the boys and the squaws, and the usu- 
ally solemn papooses rolling neglected in the 
dirt had shrieked and howled in half-delirious 
excitement as the Indians raced their ponies. 

Wild years had Two-eyes spent in the moun- 
tains which border the Mojave desert, before 
an enterprising prospector had caught the 
whole band and brought a lot of broncos down 
to the Los Angeles market ; earlier than that 
there had been yet wilder years in the camps 
of the Arizona Apaches. " The-horse-that- 
looks-two-ways" had raced with everything in 
the southern country, and had not been beaten. 
A carelessly tied knot had slipped one day, 
letting the horse go free. His Indian owners 
chased him a day and a night, and stole fresh 
horses more than once or twice during the pur- 
suit. But they failed to catch him, and he 
joined a band of free horses which afterward 
crossed over into California and found good 
pasture along the edges of the desert. There 
he lived till the prospector had caught him and 
sold him to the Heindel boys, who named him 
Two-eyes, just as the Apaches had called him 
by a name of similar import, because two spots 
of color on his head gave him an absurd air 
of looking upward with one eye and down- 
ward with the other. 

A horse does remember. Hearing the cry 
of Apache Tomas, Two-eyes sprang out from 
under the Indian's descending hand. The old 
light came back to his eyes, and the old fire to 
his heart. The long neck was stretched out, 

and the breath came hot through reddening 
nostrils, as the horse squared himself for run- 
ning, and settled into the swinging stride the 
bronco horse yet holds as an inheritance from 
ancient Arabian sires. 

Felipe's self-possession came back to him in 
some degree, and he rode with care and such 
skill as his little experience had given him. 
After the first few rods of running, he found 
that the rope gave him a more secure, though 
less comfortable, seat than a saddle. While 
wildly excited by the rapid motion, yet he re- 
sisted the temptation to push the horse to his 
utmost, and made some little choice of road. 

The horse ran on past the mountain-spur 
which juts out between the river and the sea; 
and the sea-breeze fanned the horse and his 
rider, bringing to both renewed strength and 
greater courage. 

Felipe had ridden the farm horses since he 
was a child ; and had run races with other 
boys, sometimes giving the horses more exercise 
in an hour than they would or should get in 
a week's plowing. But he had never ridden 
at such a pace as this, and, notwithstanding the 
strong excitement and the thought of how much 
was at stake, he was a little frightened. He 
half shut his eyes to the wind that seemed to 
sting, crouched closer to his horse as he bent 
his knees to hold himself more firmly, and 
steadied himself and the bronco with a strong 
pull on the rope bridle. 

There was still wanting the one thing that stirs 
a racer to his utmost endeavor. Felipe had al- 
most forgotten the horse behind him. Two-eyes 
had not. He had been on the alert, horse-fashion, 
with one ear now and again turned back, and in- 
creased his speed as the thoroughbred drew near. 

Felipe turned his head with a sick feeling 
that in a minute more he would not be obliged 
to turn his head to see. One sidelong glance 
showed him a bay horse with his head in the 
air, his dainty ears upright, and his frothing 
mouth wide open. The rider stood in his 
stirrups, leaning over his horse's neck with the 
reins wound around his hands. White foam 
had gathered at the saddle-girth, and sweat 
dropped from the horse's body as he ran. 

Felipe shut his teeth, and turned his face 
toward Los Armeies. He did not need to look 

rS 95 .: 



long nor to know very much about horses to 
see that this one was a true racehorse, and the 
man a steady and a skilful rider. 

And Two-eyes ? Two-eyes heard the quick 
hoof-beats and the " huh-/-////, huh-/////; " of a 
horse at speed, 
and felt hot breath 
on his Hanks as 
the thoroughbred 
drew alongside. 

Not the unmus- 
ical cry of Tomas, 
not the fierce 
shriek of the sav- 
age who in the 
old days rode him, 
— neither beating 
with knotted rope, 
nor cruel stroke of 
sharpest spur, — 
could have gained 
from the bronco 
horse the response 
he gave to the 
challenge of the 
The big head 
came down closer 
to the ground, the 
hairy ears were 
laid back till the 
mane concealed 
them, and the 
deeplungs labored 
as, through blaz- 
ing nostrils, the 
horse sucked in 
the strong salt 

The excitement 
of the horse took 
hold of his rider. 
The boy settled 
himself firmly in 
his seat, and bent 
his knees till the 
hair-rope cut into 

his flesh. He wound the bridle-rein around 
his hands, and lifted his horse's head with what 
strength was in him. He forgot the pain of 

the stinging air, and with wide-open and un- 
winking eyes steadily watched the road before 

A misstep might mean death to the horse or 
his rider — it surely meant homelessness for the 


little mother and the rest. As the thought 
came to him, Felipe crouched a little lower 
over the bronco's neck, and watched the road 


80 1 

a little more intently, urging his willing horse 
with low but eager cries. 

Two-eyes settled to his stride, and ran over 
the level road steadily, and at even a faster 
pace than he had made under the first mad ex- 
citement of emulation. He was wet, but not 
foaming ; his breath came fast, but strong and 
regularly. He was not distressed nor tired; and 
though the thoroughbred again drew up almost 
alongside, the bronco horse still held his lead. 

So far the race had been run over level 
ground; but as the riders approached the city, 
the country became hilly and the road rougher. 

Felipe glanced sidewise at the horse which 
followed so closely. His shapely head was still 
high in the air. He was dripping with sweat, 
and the white foam had gathered wherever 
strap or saddle touched him. He was running 
so steadily and so easily, he looked so big and 
so strong, that the boy's heart sank as he 
thought how those long legs would carry the 
lithe body over the hills and hollows of the 
road ahead, leaving his poor bronco flounder- 
ing in the rear. 

This time, however, the boy's judgment was 
at fault. 

It was not for nothing that Two-eyes had 
spent five wild years in the Sierra Madres, 
where the gray wolf and the mountain lion are 
always swift and always hungry ; nor was it 
without advantage that Felipe's tomboy sister, 
Ignacia, had raced the pinto horse over this 
road till it was as familiar to him as the stable- 
yard at home. To the bronco horse, used to 
the mountains from colthood, the hilly road ap- 
peared to be rather a relief. He galloped 
laboriously up the little hills and rushed down 
the opposite sides with a speed that took away 
his rider's breath ; he jumped from hillock to 
hollow, and across the little gulches; he dodged 
the spots where reedlike grass showed that the 
ground was wet and soft; and whether running 
or trotting, or progressing by irregular jumps, he 
went on his way with scarcely lessened speed. 

The thoroughbred had never been allowed 
to run except on a smooth and level track. He 
refused to leap the first gully which crossed the 
road, though it was scarcely a foot wide. 
When Harry made him face it again, he jumped 
ten feet farther than was necessary, and stopped 
Vol. XXII.— ioi. 

stock-still upon the opposite side. Then he 
bolted sidewise, and ran in the wrong direction; 
and Harry felt as if his arms were being pulled 
off as he forced his horse to return to the road. 

Things were getting interesting to the young 
man who rode the race-horse. He had not 
really pressed his mount, partly because he did 
not wish to incur any risk of injuring a val- 
uable animal, but more for the reason that he 
had felt entirely confident of his ability to pass 
the pinto horse at any time he wished. And 
here the bronco was actually increasing the dis- 
tance between them ! His horse, worried by 
the rough and hilly road, and still more by 
Harry's attempts to hold him down to steady 
work, was rapidly becoming less manageable; 
and the rider also was losing his temper. 

Soon the hilly road gave place to the graded 
streets on the outskirts of the city, and the end 
of the next half-mile found the horses almost 
abreast. Felipe urged the bronco, and again 
he drew to the front. 

Harry was astonished, but he was a good 
deal more angry. The horse he rode was val- 
ued at the price of two or three good farms. 

" Don Sancho," he said to his horse, " if you 
think you 're going to be beaten by a wretched 
little cow-pony — one old enough to vote — and 
without getting a thrashing — " 

He sat up straight in his saddle, and, shifting 
both reins to his left hand, twice slashed his 
horse across the flank so that the whip left two 
long welts to mark its landing-places. 

Now the bay thoroughbred, Don Sancho, 
was an aristocrat among horses. For a hun- 
dred — possibly for a thousand — generations the 
sires of his line had been chosen for their speed 
and their endurance. Half-civilized Arabs who 
knew nothing much but horse, civilized Eng- 
lishmen who knew more horse than anything 
else, and Yankees who claimed to know more 
about everything than anybody else, and were 
always fairly successful in attempts to make the 
claim good, had successively exhausted their 
skill in the rearing of a horse able to run fast 
and far. And Don Sancho, the bay thorough- 
bred, was supposed to be among the best of 
the results obtained. He had received some 
training, and had even run his full mile by the 
side of an old campaigner. 




In all his life before he had never been struck ; 
and as the first stinging blow fell across his 
flank, his start of surprise and indignation 
nearly threw Harry over the horse's head into 
the road. And then the splendid animal gath- 
ered himself together to run as no quadruped 
but a thoroughbred horse ever did run. 

As for Two-eyes, he did what he could. He 
was old, as horses' years are counted. He had 
run many races for Apache masters who spared 
neither whip nor spur, and who jerked his head 
from side to side, and threw him out of his 
stride, in their ignorant and ferocious efforts to 
make him go faster. In all his life there had 
been but one year in which his feed was regular 
and good : of all the masters he had ever known 
this was the only one who had called upon him 
for speed, riding with steady hand and watch- 
ful eye and inspiring voice, sparing him need- 
less pain. 

It is bronco nature to respond heartily to 
these things, and Two-eyes tried desperately 
to keep away from the clattering hoofs be- 
hind him. His breath came in gasps ; his 
mouth was dry, and his sight was dim ; his 
trembling legs grew weak as side by side 
the horses raced down the street leading to the 
court-house, now hardly a mile away. 

As in a nightmare, Felipe saw the thorough- 
bred forge ahead, the bony head outstretched 
and down to the level of the withers, the dainty 
ears laid flat, the crimson nostrils widely spread, 
and the eyes glaring with fierce eagerness. 

The bronco ran on, but unsteadily. Felipe 
drew his legs out from under the rope, and as 
he did so the bronco's feet sank in the soft 
earth where a little stream crossed the street. 
The horse's courage was greater than his 
strength. He plunged forward half a dozen 
stumbling strides, and fell just at the edge of 
the little stream. 

Felipe slid over his horse's head into a patch 
of tules, and lay, half stunned but not hurt, while 
the thoroughbred horse passed out of sight and 
hearing, and the dust his flying feet had raised 
settled down upon the quiet street. 

A carpenter, at work shingling a cottage near 
by, ceased his melodious whistling, and, climb- 
ing rapidly down to the ground, ran out to 

assist a young man who seemed to him to have 
had a very bad fall. 

Felipe had risen to his feet when the man 
reached him. 

"You ain't hurt, be you?" asked the car- 
penter, in a tone of sympathy. " When I see 
you did n't git up, I thought you were dead." 

Felipe was dizzy with strong emotion, and a 
little stupid from the effects of his fall. He 
stood staring vacantly until the words " I 
thought you were dead" roused him like a dash 
of cold water during sleep, for they brought 
back the words his brother had used. It 
flashed upon him that Heinrich had told him 
everything depended upon his getting to the 
court-house by noon. The carpenters were still 
at work, so it could not be noon yet. 

Without even a word, he turned and ran. 

The man looked in amazement for a moment, 
and then burst into a laugh. 

" He does n't seem to need any o' my help," 
he said. " Looks 's if he 's goin' back t' the 
'sylum to git a clean shirt." 

Felipe sped off toward the court-house as fast 
as he could run, thrilling with renewed hope r 
and altogether forgetful that there were limits 
to either the strength of his legs or the capacity 
of his lungs. For two hundred yards he ran 
like a sprinter — standing on his toes, his shoul 
ders back, and his chin drawn in. He was an 
active young fellow, and his muscles were hard 
ened by steady work. But he was not a trained 
runner ; and another two hundred yards found 
him running flat-footed, his chin pushed out, 
and very much distressed for breath. But he had 
only a few hundred yards more to go, and hope 
grew stronger with each rod that was passed. 

He ran on. The sweat trickled down his 
forehead and into his eyes, half blinding him. 
His arms swung by his sides, and his jaw 
dropped down. He came near to the court- 
house almost too exhausted to lift his head to 
look at the tower clock. With knees trembling, 
breathing in gasps, dizzy with exertion, he trot- 
ted doggedly on to the door. He stumbled 
over the low step and into the room, and, un- 
buckling the money-belt, laid it on a desk at 
which sat a deputy-sheriff. Beside him stood 
the young man who had ridden the race-horse. 

Had the lives of all the members of the 

i8 95 .] 



Heindel family depended upon a word, Felipe 
could not have spoken it. He pushed the money- 
belt toward the deputy-sheriff; and as he did 
so the clock in the tower above banged out 
upon a jangling bell the first stroke of the hour 
of twelve. 

What with mud and dust and perspiration, — 
Felipe's face was most conspicuously dirty, and 
the deputy-sheriff looked curiously at him. Per- 
haps the paper in his hand assisted him to 
recognize the boy : it was a sheriff's deed of 
certain land, known as "the Heindel place," to 
one George Philip Shallten, and was to be 
delivered that day at twelve o'clock noon. 

" You 're Heindel, ain't you ? " he asked. 

Felipe nodded. With official deliberation the 
man unfolded the deed, and looked at the con- 
sideration therein expressed. 

" Well," he said, "if you 've got ten hundred 
and ninety-six dollars, and a short bit and a 
nickel," — Felipe, still panting, nodded again, 
— " you can take a couple of days to get your 
breath, because you 're just as much in time 

as if you 'd 'a' come last summer. But I tell 
you, young man, next time you 'd better start 
earlier, or borrow a horse, for you did n't have 
one single Utile second to spare." 

For a while after Felipe had run off, Two-eyes 
lay still. Then he struggled to his feet, and 
stood trembling, his nose almost touching the 
ground, his eyes dull, and his flanks palpitating 
with each spasmodic breath. After a time he 
walked to a pool formed by the little stream, 
and drank exactly as much as he could hold. 
If he had been a thoroughbred, it would have 
killed him; not being a thoroughbred, he was 
refreshed and encouraged; and evidently feeling 
that his stable was the best place for a tired 
bronco to rest, he slowly ambled off toward 
home ; and there Felipe found him after a long 
walk in which he was sustained by the glad 
consciousness that the Heindel home was their 
own — bought and paid for, and "free from 
all liens and encumbrances of every kind and 
nature whatsoever." 

*f\xi- _fc_.Te-lol-T.CT.rc.fc Sect orz. Soi-no Kje-gs j-utgglz-cL bottles, cvrad. eggs. 

S^Vrccl Ke. So-icl, I surmise. 

TTtts oCCcsionS Sixriorise.,- 

ZE-TJ-t* ol-T. dcc~:r\ rc-ow- it: lire.S one.'fl legs ! 

Nottingham lairgs- 

Bv Anna Robeson Brown. 

i n^'jf 

># i /,v*'#. ,\i'^ 

OW listen, maids and gentles all, 
While I a tale will tell. 
One spring, at stately Nottingham, 
A merry fair befell. 

The booths upon the village green 

Were wreathed and dressed with may, 

And there the country folk were seen 
All in their best array. 

The Pig-faced Lady here set forth 

Gave timid folk a scare. 
Here stood the Giant of the North — 

Now, little boys, beware ! 

Here tumblers tumbled on the green ; 

Here wizards wise you see, 
With charms to sell — "Eternal Youth" — 

For only one penny ! 

The wrestling-place was thronged about, — 
The archers matched so well 

That all declared no braver bout 
Was shot by Adam Bell. 



Stout yeomen from the fair greenwood 
Were there, and jolly boys; 

While dames from peaceful Coventry 
Stood shuddering at the noise. 


Foremost among the wondering folk 
A little maid there stood, 

Whose kirtle, all of Lincoln green, 
Sweet savored of the wood. 

A minstrel, on a hogshead perched, 

Upon his gittern played 
The song of brave King Rich- 
ard — he K > li\ /■,*,'' 

Who Saladin dismayed. ^L /|j 7/fe 



Or, as the silver tinkling fell, 
And smiled each kindly face, 

Sang to his lute, '-The Heir of Lynne," 
Or, maybe, " Chevy Chase." 

And in her hand, yea, verily, 

She bore a good yew bow, 

With ten long arrows such as 


To pierce the panting doe. 

The sun swung high, the hour was noon, 
On all sides smiles were seen ; 

The dancers to the gittern's tune 
Went jigging down the green : 



When in a wink there was a shout 
Of fear that checked the laugh, 

And in a trice the crowds about 
Fled scattering like chaff. 

Down the long green, with hideous roar, 

Shambled a big brown bear 
That, held but now by stake and chain, 

Had danced for all the fair ! 

But here, between his foaming jaws 
His teeth gleamed sharp and white; 

His little eyes showed sulky-red ; 
And not a man, from fright, 

Would stay to face that ravening brute; 

All shrieked and wept and fled — 
The giant, and the pig-faced dame 

(Who left behind her head !) 

The minstrel flung his gittern down ; 

The drinkers left their kegs ; 
And e'en the wizard tried no charm, 

But only tried his legs ! 

One little figure stood unmoved ; 

She strung her bow of yew, 
Notched a long arrow to the string — 

The arrow twanged and flew 

Straight for the gray throat of the beast ! 

The yell Sir Bruin made 
Split earth and heaven, and all around 

Hid eyes and were afraid. 

But dauntlessly the forest-child 

Sent shaft on shaft ahead 
Until, all spent and struggling sore, 

The smitten bear lay dead. 

Up came the frighted archers then, 
Their hearts and bows unstrung ! 

Up came the wrestlers, ashen-faced ; 
Dames old and maidens young. 

The players, tumblers, wizard, all 
Came, looked, nor spoke for shame. 

Then spake the portly sheriff: " Maid, 
Pray let us know thy name ! 

' Our lives were in thy hand to-day, 
And thou art parlous young ! " 

" My father is that Robin Hood 
Your ballads long have sung. 

" You know him well : his master shaft 
Full oft has won your prize. 
It is to him I owe that skill 

Which makes you ope your eyes ! " 

Then cried the sheriff: " None to-day, 

Where'er the contest lie, 
Has shown — and to my shame I say!- 

Such skill in archery. 

" This golden arrow, maid, is thine, 
As it was his before ; 
To this I add my jeweled chain 
As largess, furthermore. 

"Take greeting to your father good; 

For, sheriff though I am, 
I send a buck, to heal our feud, 
To Robin Hood of sweet Sherwood, 

From men of Nottingham ! " 




fi|ttip?eet Arexb stood 

vJjiMWon the weioKino machine 
allflfe^tKe iqKt of the 

lingering* a 

genng day 
lhen & counterfeit penny 

ne dropped in the slot 
--And silently stole JhHI 


There was a little boy, and he had a little He took out the tiny screws, and the cunning 

watch ; little wheels, 

And he said, "Little watch, let me see And the pretty little spring called the "main." 

What it is that makes you go — I 've long He laid them on a chair and examined them 

desired to know, with care, 

And the secret now shall be revealed to ..... 

me ! " But he found he could n't put them back again. 




By Brander Matthews. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cam- 
bridge, Massachusetts, on August 29, 1S09. 
During the revolution his grandfather had 
served as a surgeon with the Continental troops ; 
and his father was the author of a history enti- 
tled " Annals of America." He grew to boy- 
hood in Cambridge, often playing under the 
Washington elm. He was sent to Phillips Aca- 
demy, Andover ; and it was while he was a 
schoolboy there that he translated the first 
book of Virgil's " ^Eneid " into heroic coup- 
lets — the meter used by Pope in his version 
of Homer's " Iliad." 

Then he went to Harvard College, where 
he was graduated in 1829, eight years after 
Emerson and nine years before Lowell. He 
wrote prose and verse while he was at Harvard, 
contributing freely to the college paper; and 
he delivered the poem at commencement. Set- 
tling down in his native town he began to 
study law, but his heart was not in his task, 
and he sought relief in writing verse, mostly 
comic. That he could be serious upon occa- 
sion was quickly shown the year after his gradu- 
ation, when it was proposed to break up the 
frigate " Constitution," — " Old Ironsides," — the 
victor in the splendid fight with the British 
ship " Guerriere" in the war of 1812. With the 
hot indignation of youth against what seemed 
to him an insult and an outrage upon a na- 
tional glory, Holmes wrote the fiery lines be- 
ginning : 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down, 
Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 
And burst the cannon's roar; 
The meteor of the ocean air 
Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

This lyric appeal to patriotic feeling was 
first published in the Boston Advertiser; it was 

copied all over the country ; it was quoted in 
speeches; it was printed on hand-bills; and it 
saved the ship for half a century. Old Iron- 
sides was taken to the new Charleston navy- 
yard, and a few years later she was thoroughly 
repaired. Even when the day of wooden war- 
ships was past forever, the Constitution did not 
go out of commission for the last time until a 
little more than fifty years after Holmes had 
penned his stirring lines. 

Apparently the law did not tempt Holmes 
to persevere in it ; and before he had been two 
years out of college he abandoned it finally, 
to take up the study of medicine — his grand- 
father's profession. Although he had already 
written much, and was helping to edit a mis- 
cellany, he seems never to have thought of 
authorship as his calling ; and indeed there was 
here in America in 1833 but little chance that 
an author might support himself comfortably by 
literature alone. American literature was hardly 
older than Holmes himself, if we trace it only to 
the publication of Franklin's " Autobiography," 
and of Irving's " Knickerbocker's History of 
New York," both of which first appeared about 
the time of Holmes's birth. 

Having made his choice of a profession 
Holmes devoted himself to it — at first in Bos- 
ton, and then in Europe ; making the voyage, 
chiefly that he might study it in Paris, where 
at that time the best instruction in medicine 
was to be obtained. "I was in Europe," he 
wrote half a century later, " about two years 
and a half, from April, 1833, to October, 1835. 
I sailed in the packet-ship ' Philadelphia ' from 
New York for Portsmouth, where we arrived 
after a passage of twenty-four days. . . I 
then crossed the Channel to Havre, from which 
I went to Paris. In the spring and summer 
of 1834 I made my principal visit to England 
and Scotland. There were other excursions to 
the Rhine and to Holland, to Switzerland and 



to Italy. ... I returned in the packet-ship 
' Utica ' sailing from Havre, and reaching New- 
York after a passage of forty-two days." 

He received the degree of Doctor of Medi- 
cine in 1836, being then twenty-seven years 
old ; and in that year he also published his first 

/%^£^ y^Wz^^f ^tk^?Z^. 

volume of poems. Nothing of Dr. Holmes's 
has been more popular than " The Last Leaf," 
contained in this early collection, and none has 
more richly deserved to please by its rhythmic 
beauty, and by its exquisite blending of humor 
and pathos, so sympathetically intertwined that 
we feel the lonely sadness of the old man even 
Vol. XXII. —102. 

while we are smiling at the quaintness so feel- 
ingly portrayed. Dr. Holmes was like Bryant 
(who composed "Thanatopsis " and the "Lines 
to a Waterfowl " long before he was twenty) in 
that he early attained full development as a 
poet. Although each of them wrote many 

verses in later life, 
nothing of theirs ex- 
celled these poems 
% of their youth. In 

III their maturity they 

'"■'_'/ >.-i—' ■.;-:■':; did not lose power, 

but neither did they 
deepen or broaden ; 
and " Thanatopsis " 
on the one side, and 
"The Last Leaf" on 
the other, are as 
strong and charac- 
teristic as anything 
either poet was ever 
to write throughout 
a long life. What 
Bryant was, what 
Holmes was, in this, 
his first volume of 
poems, each was to 
the end of his career. 
To neither of them 
was literature a live- 
Si lihood. Bryant was 
first a lawyer and 
then a journalist. 
Holmes was first a 
practising physician, 
and then a teacher 
of medicine. He 
won three prizes for 
dissertations upon 
medical themes, and 
these essays were 
published together 
in 1S38. In 1839 
he was appointed professor of anatomy and phy- 
siology at Dartmouth ; and the next year he 
married Miss Amelia Lee Jackson. Shortly 
afterward he resigned the position at Dartmouth, 
and resumed practice in Boston. He worked 
hard in his profession, and contributed freely to 
its literature. And in 1847, he went back to Har- 





vard, having been appointed professor of ana- 
tomy and physiology — a position which he 
was to hold with great distinction for thirty- 
five years. 

The most of the prose which Dr. Holmes 
wrote at this period of his life was upon medi- 
cal topics ; and whenever he had anything to 
say upon other than professional subjects he 
generally said it in verse. Although he was 
for a while a frequent lecturer in the lyceums 
of New England, following in the footsteps of 
Emerson, his literary reputation until he was 
nearly fifty was due almost wholly to his poems. 
This reputation was highest in Massachusetts, 
and he was the bard of Boston especially, 
being called upon whenever the three-hilled 
city needed a copy of verses for an occasion 
of public interest, a banquet, or a funeral, 
or the visit of a distinguished foreigner. He 
always acquitted himself acceptably and often 
brilliantly ; and he rarely refused to provide 
the few lines of rhyme appropriate to the 
event. As he himself humorously put it in 
one of his later occasional poems : 

I 'm a florist in verse, and what would people say 
If I came to a banquet without my bouquet? 

Then, when Holmes was forty-eight years 
old, an age at which most men have stiffened 
themselves into habits, he showed the freshness 
of his talent by writing one of the wisest and 
wittiest prose books in the English language. 
The Atlantic Monthly was established in the 
fall of 1857, and Lowell made it a condition 
of his acting as editor that Dr. Holmes should 
be a contributor. Therefore it was that the 
first number of the new magazine contained 
the opening pages of the " Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table," which every reader followed 
with delight month after month, until at last 
the book was completed and published by it- 
self in the fall of 1858. Since then it is rather 
as a writer of prose than as a writer of verse 
that Dr. Holmes has been most highly es- 

The " Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" is a 
most original book ; not that it is especially 
original in form, for it is not entirely unlike 
the Spectator of Addison and Steele, wherein 
we have a group of characters described, and 

wherein their sayings and doings are duly re- 
corded. In the American book the group of 
characters meets at the early morning meal, 
and one of them — the Autocrat himself — does 
most of the talking. The other figures are 
lightly sketched — some of them are merely 
suggested ; and even at the very end there is 
but the thinnest thread of a story. The real 
originality of Dr. Holmes's work is in the frank 
simplicity and sincerity of the Autocrat's talk. 
He seemed rather to be chatting with himself 
than conversing with others; and no such talk 
had yet fallen from any American lips — none 
so cheerful with humor, so laden with thought, 
so mellow with knowledge, so ripe with ex- 
perience. The reader is borne along by the 
current of it, unresisting, smiling often, laugh- 
ing sometimes, and absorbing always, even if 
unconsciously, high and broad thoughts about 

So ample a store of humor — and of good 
humor — had Dr. Holmes, so well filled a reser- 
voir of sense and of common-sense, that he had 
an abundance of material for other volumes 
like the "Autocrat." In i860 he published the 
"Professor at the Breakfast Table," and in 1872 
the " Poet at the Breakfast Table." Though 
these two volumes have not all the freshness 
of the first one, they are inferior only to it ; 
they have the same wholesome spirit, the same 
sunny sagacity. And these are the qualities 
which characterize also his last volume of 
prose, " Over the Tea-Cups," issued in 1890, 
when he was eighty- one years old. In all 
these books there is the precious flavor of ac- 
tual conversation, the table-talk of a broad, 
liberal, thoughtful man, full of fancy and abound- 
ing in humor. 

Various essays and lighter prose pieces, con- 
tributed from time to time to the magazines, he 
gathered together in 1863 under the apt title of 
" Soundings from the Atlantic." In more than 
one of these he discussed subjects of every- 
day life from the point of view of a shrewd 
and thoughtful physician. In 1883, when he 
made a final revision of all his writings, the 
best of the papers in this book, with others 
written afterward, he brought out together as 
" Pages from an Old Volume of Life." At 
this time he selected and corrected also a vol- 




ume of " Medical Essays." Clever as both 
these books are, with a cleverness of their own 
and of a kind no other author possessed, they 
added but little to Dr. Holmes's reputation. 
And perhaps it is not unfair to say that this 
reputation, raised to its highest by the Break- 
fast Table series, was but little bettered either 
by the three novels or by the two biographies 
he wrote after the success of the " Autocrat " 
tempted him to other ventures in prose. 

The three novels were " Elsie Vernier," which 
was published in 1861; "The Guardian Angel," 

two years after the historian's death. Dr. 
Holmes was one of Motley's oldest comrades, 
and he told the story of his friend's life and 
labors with his accustomed skill. The second 
biography, the memoir of Emerson, published 
in 1884, is even more satisfactory than the 
memoir of Motley. The book is delightful. 
The sage of Concord is drawn with the sharp- 
est clearness; he is made real to us by abun- 
dant anecdote ; his works are analyzed with the 
utmost keenness ; and his career and his char- 
acter are summed up with perfect sympathy. 

In nothing was Dr. 
Holmes more skilled 
than in his descrip- 
tions of his contem- 
poraries, as in these 
memoirs and in occa- 
sional poems. 

Of Emerson 
asked — 



which followed in 1867; and "A Mortal An- 
tipathy," which came last in 1885. All three 
of these attempts at story-telling are interesting 
because they are the work of Dr. Holmes. No 
one of them is a masterpiece of fiction. He 
bad not received the gift of story-telling in so 
full a proportion as many novelists without a 
tithe of his ability. The teller of the story is 
more important than the story itself, and his 
comments are more interesting than his char- 
acters. The strange subjects he chose were 
suggested to him by his study of his profession; 
and the themes of both "Elsie Venner" and 
"A Mortal Antipathy" are unusual. His sto- 
ries have all the shrewdness and the insight 
that he showed in his other books. 

The earlier of the two biographies was the 
memoir of Motley, published in 1878, within 

Where in the realm of 
thought, whose air is 

Does he, the Buddha of 
the West, belong? 

He seems a winged Frank- 
lin, sweetly wise, 

Born to unlock the secrets 
of the skies. 

It was the men of 
Massachusetts whom 
Holmes celebrated in song most freely and 
most frequently, and although he wrote stirring 
stanzas of appeal to the whole United States, 
west and east, when the life of the nation was 
in danger, it was in the city of Boston that his 
spirit dwelt at home. He it was who declared 
hat "Boston State-House is the hub of the solar 
system," and that " you could n't pry that out 
of a Boston man if you had the tire of all crea- 
tion straightened out for a crowbar." He him- 
self was a Bostonian of the strictest sect; he 
might make fun of his chosen city, but he loved 
it all the better for every joke he cracked upon it. 
As we turn the pages of the three volumes 
into which he finally collected all his verse, it is 
impossible not to be struck by the very large 
proportion which is local in its themes, even 
if it is not local in its interest. He responded 



loyally to every call Boston might make upon 
him, and Boston repaid him with homage and 
with high praise. It was in Boston that a 
great public breakfast was given to him in 
honor of his seventieth birthday. 

That was in 1879, and three years later he 
resigned his professorship. In 1S86 he went 
over to Europe for the second time, almost ex- 
actly fifty years after his first visit. He spent 
the summer in England and France; and he 
seems to have had a very good time indeed, for 
in age he kept the youthful faculty of enjoy- 
ment. From the members of his own profession 
in England, from the men of letters in London, 
from the fashionable society of Great Britain, 
Dr. Holmes received the heartiest welcome ; 
and he was the lion of the London season. 

He took notes of his travels, recording his 
observations both of men and of manners ; and 
on his return home these jottings were written 
out, and published the next year as " Our Hun- 
dred Days in Europe." 

After he had settled down again in Boston, 
Dr. Holmes continued to write both in prose 
and in verse. He kept his faculties fully un- 
til he had long passed the age of four-score. 
His final volume of poems, published in 1888, 
was appropriately called " Before the Curfew," 
just as Longfellow and Whittier (also looking 

to the end) had named their last volumes " In 
the Harbor," and " At Sundown." Yet after 
the poems in this collection Holmes wrote 
those scattered through the pages of " Over 
the Tea-cups" which was published in 1890. 
Four years later he died, on October 7, 1894 — 
more than sixty years since he had first made 
himself widely known to his countrymen by 
the ringing appeal for Old Ironsides. 

While Holmes has written poems of a wide 
popularity, — " Dorothy Q." and " Grandmother's 
Story of Bunker Hill Battle," the " Wonderful 
One-Hoss Shay," and the " Broomstick Train," 
— probably his prose will endure longer than his 
verse. He is seen at his best in the " Auto- 
crat of the Breakfast Table," and that is why 
the book is better in kind and in degree than 
any of its fellows. 

Among his varied gifts, Holmes had also a 
very abundant humor, and this helped to 
sweeten his life and to broaden his influence. 
To the whole United States he set an exam- 
ple of kindliness and of gentleness, associated 
with sagacity and with strength. He was the 
last to survive of the great New England group 
of authors — Emerson, Longfellow, Hawthorne, 
Whittier, Holmes, and Lowell, which followed, 
and in some ways surpassed, the earlier New 
York group, Irving, Cooper, and Bryant. 


By Guy Wet.more Carryl. 

I know of a dear, delightful land, 

Which is not so far away, 
That we may not sail to its sunlit strand 

No matter how short the day : 
Ah, there the skies are always blue, 

And hearts forget to grieve, 
For there 's never a dream but must come true 

In the Land of Make-Believe. 

There every laddie becomes a knight, 

And a fairy queen each lass ; 
And lips learn laughter, and eyes grow bright 

As the dewdrops in the grass ; 

For there 's nothing beautiful, brave, and bold 

That one may not achieve, 
If he once sets foot on the sands of gold 

Of the Land of Make-Believe ! 

So spread the sails, and away we go 

Light- winged through the fairy straits; 
For the west winds steadily, swiftly blow, 

And the wonderful harbor waits. 
On our prow the foam-flecks glance and gleam, 

While we sail from morn till eve, 
All bound for the shores of the children's dream 

Of the Land of Make-Believe ! 



By Charles G. D. Roberts. 

When the partridge coveys fly 
In the birch-tops cool and high ; 

When the dry cicadas twang 
Where the purpling fir-cones hang; 

When the bunch-berries emboss — 
Scarlet beads — the roadside moss: 

Brown with shadows, bright with sun, 
All day long till day is done 

Sleeps in murmuring solitude 

The worn old road that threads the wood. 

In its deep cup — grassy, cool — 
Sleeps the little roadside pool ; 

Sleeps the butterfly on the weed, 
Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed. 

Like a great and blazing gem, 
Basks the beetle on the stem. 

Up and down the shining rays 
Dancing midges weave their maze. 

High among the moveless boughs, 
Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse. 

Far up, unfathomably blue, 
August's heaven vibrates through. 

The old road leads to all things good ; 
The year 's at full, and time 's at flood. 

8. 3 

By Rudolph F. Bunner. 

Where poplars run up in the air, 
Where autumn fields lie wide and bare, 

Their tent the gipsies make ; 
And one white horse — 'most lean as those 
On which you dry the new-washed clothes — 

Now browses by a stake. 

We give him cookies, dolls, and cake ; 
He gives us things strange people make, 
Brought to us many miles. 

And once he brought his violin, — 
A queer green bag 't was carried in,- 

Then, like a magic spell, 
He played us such a merry jig ! 
The village fiddler 's twice as big 

But can't play half so well. 

We know they never stole from us; 
But since the neighbors make a fuss, 

We 're told to stay away ; 
And flocks of geese no more can roam 
O'er the wide fields afar from home, 

Where once we used to play. 

But, standing by the mullen rocks, 
Where little burs catch in our frocks, 

A flag of truce we wave 
To Elta Geeze, the gipsy boy, 
Who comes to trade, with toy for toy, 

And face so brown and grave. 

He brings to trade the queerest toys 
That ever were for girls or boys ; 
And when we laugh he smiles. 

We see, from the last garden gate, 
Their white-brown tent at twilight late, 

Where the red wood-fire gleams ; 
And when the doors are closed all round, 
We know the gipsy boy sleeps sound, 

To dream his gipsy dreams. 

Until, some morning — strange and bare 
The fields look ; for the gipsies fare 

On roads far, far away. 
So we play we are gipsies now, 
Where the tall poplar tree-tops bow, 

Near sumacs red and gay — 
We play that we are gipsies, too, 
In tents of quilts the light shines through, 

Where leafy shadows sway. 



[Begun itt ike November 

Chapter XIX. 

By Elbridge S. Brooks. 


Philip struggled des- 
perately in the hands 
of his captors, but to 
no avail. He was 
speedily secured and 
conducted to head- 
quarters, only to find — 
just see how curiously 
things come around ! — 
that he had fallen into 
the hands of the Cos- 
sacks of Czernicheff's 
command — that Rus- 
sian about whom Philip 
the page got into trouble 
by calling the Czar's 
envoy " Catch-a-Sneezy 
the spy," the day when, 
in the Hall of the Mar- 
shals, he had angered 
the Russian ambassa- 

Philip felt a little un- 
easy when he discov- 
ered this. He recalled 
the stories of Russian 
vengeance he had so 
often heard, and ex- 
pected the worst. But 
there was no especial danger ; Czernicheff did 
not recognize in this bedraggled young courier 
the spruce palace page of the days of magnifi- 
cence. He saw that it was a bearer of de- 
spatches his Cossacks had captured, and he 
hurried the prisoner on to Marshal Bliicher's 
headquarters for examination. 

Old " Marshal Forwards," as Blucher had 



been nicknamed because of his continual cry of 
" Forward to Paris ! " questioned his prisoner 
sharply as to the mission on which he rode; 
but Philip answered never a word. 

" Thunder and lightning ! has the boy no 
tongue ? Search him ! " Blticher exclaimed. 

And they did search him, more thoroughly 
than gently. Philip was punched and pum- 




meled and pinched and fingered, and at last I thought ! " he exclaimed. " The Corsican is 
stripped, in this eager search for the letter he in sore straits, and — what ? — means to march 
was supposed to be carrying to court. It was to the east ? Ha ! he would strike at our rear, 
finally ripped out from the secret pocket in the would he ? and draw us back to the Rhine ? 
boy's crimson vest, and, with a hurrah of dis- We shall see. It is but a desperate man's last 

device. Yes, this 
proves it — this last 
line here; what is 
it ? ' This step saves 
me or ruins me ! ' 
So ! Quick ! copy 
it — copy it, Ru- 
dolph ! " he cried, 
throwing the letter 
into the hands of 
one of his staff 
secretaries. "The 
shall read it, and see 
that my advice was 
best. Now he shall 
come to my way of 

The commander- 
in-chief of the allied 
armies — that same 
Prince Schwarzen- 
burg at whose fa- 
mous and fatal ball 
Philip had first met 
Mademoiselle — evi- 
dently did speedily 
come to Bliicher's 
way of thinking. 
For, before two days 
had passed, the allied 
forces were racing 
for Paris, each divi- 
sion anxious to be 
the first to attack 
the imperiled, help- 
less capital, while 
Napoleon's shrewd, 


(SEE PAGE 819.) 

covery, handed to the old Prussian leader, who, 
meanwhile, had stood by watching the pro- 
ceedings, pulling his long mustache and growl- 
ing in choicest German at the boy's obstinacy. 
Blucher tore open the letter and read it 
hastily. " So ! for the Empress, is it ? And 
not in cipher!" he cried. "That is good! — As 

desperate move to draw back the advancing 
enemy was thwarted, because he had been in 
too much of a hurry, and had not written in 
cipher his letter to the Empress. 

But, before this came about, Philip was re- 
leased .; and, escorted to the French outpost at 
Meaux, was sent on to Paris as bearer of the 

i8 95 -i 


letter which the enemy had already read and 
profited by. 

He felt small enough as he rode dejectedly 
from Meaux, through the forest and village of 
Bondy, and along the canal of Ourcq. As he 
entered the city by the temple-like gate at the 
. Villette barrier, he remembered how he had 
been commanded by the Emperor to defend 
his mission with his life ; and here he was, a 
cat's-paw for the enemy, bearing the letter, to 
be sure, but only after it had been taken from 
him and turned to such terrible account. 
What would the Emperor say ? What would 
be the end of it all ? 

He gave a shrug of the shoulders — his con- 
venient French way of saying, " Well, it is as 
the Emperor himself declares in such cases — 
the fortune of war! I did my best." And then 
Philip rode down the Street of the Suburb of 
St. Martin and on to the Tuileries. 

Philip sought the Empress and gave her the 
letter, and the Empress looked troubled ; after 
all, she was but a girl. 

" How careless ! " she exclaimed, " Both you 
and the Emperor! How could you be thus 
caught, young Desnouettes ? And why — oh, 
why did the Emperor write thus, when he has 
always sent his other letters in a cipher the 
enemy cannot read ? How dreadful ! Listen : 
' This step saves me or ruins me,' he says. I 
see only ruin now. What shall I do ? Whom 
can I trust ? Who will advise ? " 

" Madame, stay ! " cried Philip impulsively, 
dropping upon his knee. " Stay, and save Paris. 
The Home Guard swore to protect you and 
the little King. Stay, and all Paris will die in 
defending you." 

" Monsieur the lieutenant, for all your boast- 
ing you are but a fool," returned the Empress 
sharply, snatching away her robe from the 
touch of the appealing boy. " Paris ! You do 
not know the town ! It would not raise a fin- 
ger to save the daughter of Austria. Paris ! 
It is like the champagne it loves too well — 
all fizz to-day, all dead to-morrow. It is full 
of traitors and turncoats — men who will cry 
' Long live the Emperor ! ' in the morning, and 
' Down with Bonaparte ! ' at night. And the 
Emperor ? He bids me go. He declares he 
had rather see his son in the Seine than in the 
Vol. XXII.— 103. 


hands of the Allies. Did I come to Paris but 
for this ? Am I to be like my grand-aunt, poor 
Marie Antoinette, whom your dear Paris mur- 
dered ? Boy, boy — you are no better than the 
others! No one can advise me. Everything 
is crumbling. We are lost ! " 

Was there no hope ? Philip, roused to frenzy 
over the way things were going, hurried to the 
Street of the Fight. It was as quiet there as 
ever — Mademoiselle at her tasks, Citizen Dau- 
nou deep in his dusty documents of bygone 
days, nurse Marcel stupidly industrious. 

They greeted Philip with joy. They ex- 
claimed with surprise at his torn and discol- 
ored uniform. " You look tired and worried, 
my Philip. What have you been going 
through ? " Mademoiselle asked. 

Philip told his story of the mission and the 
capture. He begged them to do something. 

"Paris is in danger — in danger!" he cried 
to Citizen Daunou. " Cannot you, my father, 
do something ? Cannot even we rouse men to 
its defense ? " 

" And wherefore, my Philip ? What may we 
hope to do ? " Citizen Daunou said. " We 
are but drinking the cup that I promised you 
months ago. You see now the Emperor's 
greatest mistake. He has given grand fortifi- 
cations, arsenals, troops, all necessary defenses 
to his distant cities— -to Dantzic, to Hamburg, 
to Flushing, even to Venice. But to Paris — 
nothing ! ' Paris could never be invaded ! No 
foeman's foot could ever press the sacred soil 
of France ! ' Oh, no ! But to-day that foot is 
here — here at the very gates of Paris. And 
what have we to protect us ? Nothing, Philip ; 
nothing — not even the Emperor ! Here are 
only a few muskets, a few cannon, no fortifica- 
tions. And for defenders — not thirty thousand 
men to drive back half a million ! And the 
Emperor is not here ! " 

" But he will be here," cried Philip bravely. 
" He will be here, and then let the Cossacks 
tremble. The Emperor alone is worth half a 
million men." 

" If he were here, yes," replied Citizen Dau- 
nou. " But he is not here ; and through the 
ranks of the enemy even he cannot break in 
time to save us. He is not here, and at the 
palace are only weaklings and traitors. They 




will leave us; you will see. They will leave 
us, and Paris will fall." 

The old republican was right. Next day the 
Empress and her council fled from Paris. 

And, even as the court fled, the watchers 
could see from the heights about the city and 
from the towers of Notre Dame the head of 
the Russian column winding out of the Bondy 
woods, leading the advance of the army of in- 
vasion that drew steadily toward the capital — 
Paris, beautiful Paris, which for centuries had 
not seen the smoke of hostile camp-fires or 
the gleam of hostile steel. 

However, the next morning, March 30,1814, 
when, at daybreak, the booming of the Rus- 
sian cannon told that the attack had begun, 
there were those who rushed to the aid of the 
men outside the barriers, already drawn up 
in line of battle. Militiamen with the loaf of 
bread that must be their dinner sticking on 
their bayonet-points ; workingmen carrying pis- 
tols or the rusty pike ; citizens carrying fowling- 
pieces, as if they were bound on a bird-hunt, 
ran through the streets, crying " To arms ! " and 
headed for the barriers. 

In line of battle, beyond the barriers, extend- 
ing in a semicircle about the eastern side of the 
city, from the Seine on the south to the gate 
of Clichy on the north, were ranged the real de- 
fenders — ■ twelve thousand soldiers of the grand 
army under the marshals Marmont and Mor- 
tier, a few thousand Home Guards, a few 
thousand raw recruits drawn from their bar- 
racks, veterans from the Soldiers' Home, and 
the schoolboys of the military and scientific 
schools of Paris. 

It was these last who bore the brunt of the 
battle. Philip felt a thrill of pride as he saw, 
among the defenders of the city he loved, the 
boys of his old school at Alfort, and the Poly- 
technic boys. He waved his hat excitedly 
as he galloped past them, and cried again and 
again, " Stick to your guns, fellows. We boys 
will do it yet ! " 

Philip knew that, rightly, he should have 
broken through the lines and gone to report to 
the Emperor. But how could he ? There was 
to be a battle. Could he leave when every 
man was needed — while hostile cannon were 
playing against the city, his friends, his school- 

fellows ? He elected to stay, and, full of ar- 
dor and determination, he reported to Marshal 
Marmont as a special aide, and galloped from 
point to point, from barrier to barrier, bearing 
messages and striking a blow for Paris when- 
ever he had the chance. 

For ten hours the battle raged. Here the 
shattered ranks of the Sixth Corps — heroes of 
sixty-seven battles within the last ninety days 
— stood stoutly against the foemen whom, again 
and again, they had seen break and run before 
their charges; there, the old soldiers, whose 
fighting days were over, once more leveled 
their muskets against the foes of France. The 
conscripts, yet new to war, fought with the 
dash of veterans ; and, in the woods of Ro- 
mainville, by the bridge of Charenton, on the 
heights of Montmartre, and, at the Clichy gate, 
the boys of the Paris schools served the guns 
like trained artillerists, and fought from tree to 
tree like seasoned frontiersmen in American 
forests They were determined to do or die for 

Even valor may be overborne by numbers. 

Again and again were the Allies driven back, 
but with ever increasing numbers did the)- re- 
turn to the assault. Men and boys were fall- 
ing everywhere. The battle of Paris was one 
of the most stubborn and one of the most 
hopeless of all the conflicts of that hopeless 
campaign of 1S14. If Napoleon had but been 
there, the last of the battles might have proved 
a victory. 

Philip had rallied with the boys of the Young 
Guard as they drove the Prussians back to the 
suburbs of Pantin and St. Gervais ; he slashed 
and shot in the woods of Romainville; and, 
spurring in the advance, cheered on his school- 
fellows of Alfort as the cavalry class charged 
straight upon the Russian grenadiers at the 
bridge of Charenton. When, flanked and out- 
numbered, the boys crossed the Seine and 
made a desperate stand on the Beauregard 
slope, Philip was with them to cheer and wave 
his sword as their brave commander urged 
them to stand firm, and shouted : " At them 
again, boys! Behind you is Paris; before you 
is the foe ! " 

Galloping to the north with a message for 
the dauntless Marshal Mortier, he joined in the 

i8 9 5- 



fight before the Barrier of the Throne, where 
were the three hundred Polytechnic boys. 

Behind their battery, holding their crazy fort, 
the Polytechnic boys stood like a wall. Philip 
cheered his old schoolfellows until he was 
hoarse, as, again and again, they drove back 
the Prussian charges ; and when they were out- 
numbered, and their battery was taken, he gal- 
loped amid their mass, while with an irresistible 
rush they swooped upon their assailants, recap- 
tured, and dragged away their precious guns. 

He waved his shako wildly as, dashing past 
the hillock of Chaumont, he saw at the guns, 
with a schoolboy on one side and a veteran on 
the other, dear old one-legged Peyrolles, who, 
begrimed with powder-smoke, stopped just an 
instant, in the sighting of his unerring piece, to 
wave his hand at Philip and shout, " Eh, there, 
my Philip! Long live the Emperor! " 

And, as he reached the barriers at the Clichy 
gate, where brave old Marshal Moncey made 
the last desperate stand behind the hastily- 
made barricades which soldiers, students, citi- 
zens, women, and children had helped to build, 
Philip, as he sprang from his reeking horse, 
leaped almost into the arms of a fat man who, 
black with powder, was reloading an old fowl- 
ing-piece, now hot from rapid firing. 

"What — Uncle Fauriel? " cried Philip. "You 
here ? " 

" And why not ? " Uncle Fauriel answered, 
ramming home another charge. " Where is the 
Corsican ? " 

" Coming, coming, if we will but wait," Philip 
answered, with a wail of anxious fear. " Don't 
let us give in; I know he will come." 

"Bah!" said Uncle Fauriel. "And why is 
it he 's not here now, boy? — making peaceable 
fellows like us good citizens look after his busi- 
ness ! " he grumbled. 

" But why you ? " queried Philip. 

" Why me, boy?" cried Uncle Fauriel, delib- 
erately aiming his piece toward the Russian 
ranks. " Why not, then ? If the Corsican is 
beaten, the White Cockade comes in ; and, as 
between Bonaparte and the Bourbons, give me 
the Corsican. I did not build up the Repub- 
lic, my Philip, to let the Empire, which is the 
child of the Republic, give in to the aristocrats 
we kicked out in '93. What is that you say 

— the fight is over? the foreigners have whipped 
us ? Never ! Down with the Allies ! Down 
with the Royalists ! " — here he fired again — 
" Long live the Emperor ! " 

There came a flash of flame from the Rus- 
sian guns, and Uncle Fauriel staggered, reeled, 
and fell back — dead. 

Even as he fell, the white flag fluttered out, 
the guns of assailants and defenders were silent. 
The battle was over ; Paris had surrendered. 
And Philip, gazing on the face of his old friend, 
gave to it both a smile and a tear. 

" Dear Uncle Fauriel ! " he cried. " Victor 
though vanquished ! Dying for the man 
whose empire he hated ; fighting for the cause 
he detested only less than the cause he fought 
against ; a loyal son of France — his last words 
a wish for the man he had all his life resisted ; 
his last thought a prayer for the Corsican ! 
Dear Uncle Fauriel ! " 

Chapter XX. 


Besiegers and besieged fell back from their 
positions. The wounded were borne off, the 
dead were removed ; and Philip, desperate over 
the defeat, broken-hearted at the death of his 
old friend, hurried to the Street of the Fight 
to tell the sad story. 

Mademoiselle mingled her tears with those 
of her brother as he told of Uncle Fauriel's 
death. But Citizen Daunou smiled sadly, and 
said: " After all, my children, it was the taking- 
off that best suited that stanch old man. One 
half of his talk was bluster, but the other half 
was real patriotism. As against Napoleon the 
Corsican, Uncle Fauriel was ever hot and bit- 
ter; but Bonaparte, the hope of the Directory, 
as against the Bourbons whom that Directory 
drove from France, was a cause which, when 
the hour came, our dear old patriot was ready 
to defend with his blood. He was right in his 
fears ; the Bourbons will come in again. And 
our France, though defeated now, will never 
forget such valiant sons of France as Uncle 

And to this day the striking and beautiful 
monument which Paris has raised in memory 
of all those brave citizen-soldiers who fell at 




the Clichy gate attests the truth of Citizen 
Daunou's prophecy. 

But in life one must think of the living ; and 
Philip felt, now that his duty as defender was 
done, that his place was at the side of the 

At two o'clock on the morning of March 31, 
the authorities in command at Paris signed the 
capitulation, and the tricolored banner came 
down from its staff at the Tuileries. Before 
daybreak Philip was far from Paris, galloping 
along the road by which, according to the 
latest reports, the Emperor was hurrying to the 
relief of the capital 

As the dusk was just turning to dawn, Philip 
rode into the little hamlet of Fromenteau, some 
twelve miles from Paris ; and, in the dim morn- 
ing light, he saw before him a well-known figure 
walking in the direction of the fallen city. 

He understood at once. The Emperor had 
received the news of the defeat and the sur- 
render, and, fretting at every delay, without 
waiting for horse or carriage, was starting to 
walk toward Paris, a dozen miles away. For 
once, even his coolness had yielded to impa- 
tience. Almost on his heels hurried certain of 
his officers, expostulating and explaining. 

" Who goes there ? Eh, it is you, young 
Desnouettes ? " the Emperor cried, as the boy 
sprang from the saddle. " Well, what news ? 
what news ? " 

" Nothing but what you have already heard, 
Sire," Philip replied sadly. " We fought like 
tigers, but the Cossacks were too much for us. 
Ah, had you but been there, Sire ! " 

" Yes, yes; I know — I know. But one can- 
not be everywhere," Napoleon said, flicking the 
ground with his riding-whip, as was his wont 
when he was perplexed or excited. " But now 
it is no time for complaints ; now it is time to 
act. We must repair the evil. Run, my Philip ; 
run to the post-house. Bid them hurry up my 
carriage. Every one is an imbecile to-day ; 
why are they so slow ? Come ! my carriage ! 
my carriage ! my carriage ! " 

" But it is too late, Sire," Philip explained. 
" The enemy is already in Paris." 

"What! — you, too?" the Emperor cried. 
" You are all singing the same song. Suppose 
he is — I am going there, too. I will lead on 

my army and drive the enemy from Paris — 
my Paris ! my Paris ! " he repeated. ' ; Forward, 
gentlemen ! let us clear out the barbarians ! " 

" Too late, Sire," said General Belliard, the 
leader of the cavalry advance. " Our troops 
are marching away from the city. We cannot 
go back. We have signed a capitulation." 

" A capitulation ! " the Emperor blazed out. 
" Who has been so cowardly ? " 

" No cowards, Sire," Belliard replied. " Brave 
men who could not do otherwise." 

Still Napoleon walked on toward Paris. Still 
he called again and again for his carriage. 
Still his generals followed at his heels. Then 
other soldiers advanced toward him. The 
same questions were asked ; the same replies 
given. And the Emperor, realizing at last that 
his plan was indeed hopeless, flung himself 
upon the stone seat that flanked the fountains 
at Juvisy and buried his face in his hands. All 
were silent. No one broke in upon the crowd- 
ing thoughts that marked the tearless anguish 
of a conquered conqueror. 

At last he rose. Calm succeeded to despair. 
Dignity, composure, energy, came again to the 
face that so seldom betrayed emotion. 

Then reaction came. Napoleon had ridden 
nearly two hundred miles without rest, and all 
to no purpose. Going into the little posting- 
house near the fountain, he dropped into a 
chair and, for an instant, rested his head upon 
the table. But, no ! He must not sleep ; he 
must work. He called for lights. He spread 
out the war-maps upon the table, and sticking 
his pins here and there, as was his custom, at 
once began to study the situation. Philip never 
forgot that scene — the gray of the morning, 
the group of silent soldiers, and, through the 
open door of the cottage, in the circle of 
flickering light, the tired and defeated leader 
of men poring over his maps, planning a new 

But that campaign never came. Fate was 
too strong for him ; and, yielding to the inevi- 
table, Napoleon finally gave up his determina- 
tion to make an instant march on Paris with the 
troops who were following him from the east- 
ern frontier, and rode wearily to his palace at 
Fontainebleau, a few miles to the south. 

Bad news travels quickly. And bad news 

*8 9 5.; 



speedily found its way to Fontainebleau. The 
Allies entered Paris. The city, — "faithful 
Paris," as the Emperor had called it, — instead 
of rising against the invaders, welcomed them. 
France was weary of war. The dignitaries of 
the Empire, following the lead of Talleyrand, 
" that arch-conspirator," one by one deserted 
the Emperor who had made them rich and 
loaded them with honors. They gave their 
allegiance to the new government. The white 
cockade and the white flag of the Bourbons ap- 

after was esteemed a traitor by the France he 
hoped to serve and save. 

The marshals, whom the Emperor had raised 
to rank and riches, joined in the cry for his 
abdication. They conspired against their old 
leader; it is claimed they even doomed him to 
death if he refused to obey their will. 

Then, deserted by his companions-in-arms, 
worn out with a useless struggle, — loath, now, to 
bring about civil war by appeals to the people 
who were loyal and the old soldiers who were 
faithful to him, — Na- 
poleon, with that se- 
renity that marks a 
great soul, yielded to 
the inevitable, and, 
on April n, 1814, 
signed his abdication. 
This is the act of 
renunciation he signed 
— this victor, subju- 
gated by Fate, and 
by his own ambition : 

The Allied Powers hav- 
ing proclaimed that the 
Emperor is the sole ob- 
stacle to the reestablish- 
ment of peace in Europe, 
the Emperor, faithful to 
his oath, declares that he 
renounces, for himself 
and for his family, the 
thrones of France and 
Italy, and that there is no 
sacrifice, even to that of 
his life, which he is not 
ready to make for the in- 
terests of F'rance. 


peared in the streets. " Long live the King ! " 
began to be heard where " Long live the Em- 
peror ! " had so often been shouted. The ab- 
dication of the Emperor was demanded, and 
fickle Paris at last made ready to welcome back 
the Bourbons whom, nearly a generation before, 
it had driven away in the days of terror. 

Treason hastened the work. Napoleon's 
army, upon which he had depended for his re- 
venge, dwindled away; and Marmont — brave 
Marmont, who had so valiantly defended Paris 
— went over with his entire corps, and for ever 

The tricolor had 
indeed fallen. The man who, for so many years, 
had given glory and greatness to France, who 
had distracted England with war, startled the 
whole Continent with his success, and filled the 
world with his name, stepped down from his 
throne, and Europe once more breathed freely. 
Great in everything he did, Napoleon was as 
great in his fall as in his glory. The Empire 
was dead. 

Through all these days of watching and 
waiting, of planning and plotting, of hopes and 
fears, Philip stood by the Emperor, serving him 




as best he could, riding to Paris, bearing mes- 
sages — now to the friends, and now to the foes, 
of the man he clung to, alike in victory and 
in defeat. 

He stood by the Emperor's bedside that sad 
night on which, for the only time in his life, 
Napoleon played the coward and tried to com- 
mit suicide. He was near him that famous 
morning when in the Court of the White Horse, 
in the beautiful palace of Fontainebleau, Napo- 
leon bade farewell to his Old Guard, and left for 
the island principality that had been given him 
as his home, — it was almost a prison, — the little 
island of Elba, in the Mediterranean. 

That was the moment when Philip's pent-up 
feelings had overflowed, and the tears he would 
not have checked if he could came tumbling 
down his cheeks. Already the Emperor had 
said farewell to this boy who had so faithfully 
served him. 

Standing in the splendid Gallery of Francis 
I., which opens upon the famous Horseshoe 
Staircase down which Napoleon walked to say 
good-by to his Guard, the boy had begged and 
implored the Emperor to let him be one of 
the chosen four hundred soldiers who were to 
accompany the dethroned monarch to his tiny 
island realm. 

But, " No, my Philip," the Emperor said, " it 
cannot be. Go home to your dear ones, the 
sister you have found, the good Citizen Dau- 
nou, who is like a father to you. There lies 
your duty — to them and to France. Serve 
France, my son, as loyally as you have served 
me; and when she needs your strong young 
arm, and that sometimes flighty but always 
truth-telling tongue of yours, I know she will 
not call in vain." 

Then Napoleon passed on among his officers, 
down the Horseshoe Staircase and into the 
White Horse Court. 

The drums beat a salute. Then they were 
silent, and Napoleon, in a voice at first strong, 
then broken and full of feeling, said farewell to 
his stalwart soldiers of the Guard, his never- 
failing reliance on every field of battle. 

It was one of the most pathetic moments in 
history. Every man was thrilled; and when, 
breaking off his speech, Napoleon flung his 
arms about the standard-bearer, grasped the 

imperial standard, and touched his lips to the 
eagle that crowned it, Emperor, generals, sol- 
diers, all were in tears. 

Philip clung to the step of the carriage. 
Tears blinded the bright young eyes that 
looked up to his master in the final farewell. 
The Emperor placed a hand upon his head. 
" Good-by, my boy. God bless you ! " he said. 
Then the horses started ; the carriage rolled out 
of the courtyard, and to Philip it seemed as 
if all the glory, all the promise, and all the 
pride of living passed from his brave young 

But boys rally quickly, even from deeper 
sorrows. Philip returned to the Street of the 
Fight, proud and happy over the Emperor's 
words of praise, and delighted to find that the 
pathetic " Passing of Napoleon" had conquered 
even the old republican, who had served his 
Emperor faithfully even when he most ques- 
tioned the imperial measures. For now the old 
Keeper of the Archives looked upon the fallen 
monarch almost as devotedly as did the hero- 
worshiping boy and girl who brightened his 
quiet home. 

The tricolor had fallen. The white standard 
waved above the Tuileries. The Bourbons re- 
turned to power. Old Louis XVIII. was king 
of France, and those who had served the bees 
took service under the lilies. 

But this Philip stoutly refused to do. Thus, 
one day, Citizen Daunou said, "My son, you 
can be a page of the palace still, if you wish. 
The King recalls your father's services in the 
days before the Republic. He knows how he 
died, and he will gladly give the son of Des- 
nouettes the emigre a place of honor in his 
train." To this Philip replied, unhesitatingly: 
" I cannot, I cannot, my father. The Emperor 
found me poor and friendless. He stood me 
on my feet ; he tried to make a man of me. 
While he lives, there is, for me, no other king. 
I would not be page to the Bourbons for all 
the gold in their palaces. If ever the foreigner 
threatens France I will remember the Em- 
peror's command, and serve France as well as I 
may; but never the Bourbons! Let me, rather, 
if I may, stay here with you and Mademoiselle, 
my sister." 

So Philip took up the studies he had dropped 




when the stress of France called him to ride 
and to write for the Emperor. He perfected 
himself in military science, and the drawing 
and mathematics which delighted him. Citi- 
zen Daunou praised him highly for this. 

" Be faithful in your mathematical study, 
Philip, my boy," he said. " I wish I had your 
head for figures." 

Whereat Philip laughed; for he thought Citi- 
zen Daunou knew everything. He laughed, 
also, it must be confessed, when he heard the 
notes of discontent that were growing each day 
louder over what folks called " the mistakes of 
the Bourbons," and he discussed many times 
with Citizen Daunou, and sometimes with clever 
young Mademoiselle, the embarrassments of 
the new government, the disputes of royalists 
and republicans, the discontent of the army, 
and the attempts of the famous " Congress of 
Vienna " to straighten out the mixed-up affairs 
of Europe. 

Even the good old Keeper of the Archives 
was sometimes " out of sorts " and disgusted at 
the things that were going on. He said one day 
to Philip : " After all, Napoleon was but right 
when he declared, 'The Bourbons will reconcile 
France with the rest of Europe, but set her at 
war with herself.' You will see; you will see." 

Philip especially enjoyed hunting up Cor- 
poral Peyrolles and having a good talk with 
him. The old veteran was a bitter partizan. 
To him the marshals were renegades, the dig- 
nitaries who accepted the Bourbons were trai- 
tors, the Bourbons knaves and cowards. 

Peyrolles by this time was an inmate of the 
Soldiers' Home — that splendid building with 
the magnificent dome, then called the Temple 
of Mars, but famous now as the great Hotel 
des Invalides. The old corporal had no ob- 
jection to being cared for thus. " For," said 
he, " the Emperor sent me there, and it is the 
money of France and not of the Bourbons that 
pays for my keeping." 

Here Philip would often visit the veteran, 
and here, one February day in the year 1815, 
he and Mademoiselle had made their weekly 
call upon the old soldier. 

With Mademoiselle, Philip had left the Sol- 
diers' Home, and had taken a roundabout way 
for their return, extending their walk into Philip's 
old quarter, from which the Emperor had res- , 
cued him — the fourth ward of Paris and the 
Street of the Washerwomen. 

At the identical fountain, at the foot of that 
narrow and dirty street where Philip and Pierre 
had fought their famous fight, — it seemed to 
Philip as if that had happened ages ago, — 
Philip and Mademoiselle stopped for a mo- 
ment to look at a detachment of troops march- 
ing from the barriers to the military bureau 
in the Place Vendome. Philip winced as he 
looked at them, as he always winced — for they 
were no longer the soldiers of the Emperor ; 
they were the soldiers of the King. The white 
flag instead of the tricolor was borne in their 
ranks; the white cockade instead of the tri- 
color decorated their shakos ; the white of the 
Kingdom rather than the blue of the Empire 
predominated in their uniforms. 

The people in the poorer quarters of Paris, 
never enthusiastic for the King, — recalling the 
days when tl*ey and their fathers had put down 
this very race of Bourbons, — had no ringing 
shout of " Long live the King ! " as in the days 
that were gone they had shouted, " Long live 
the Emperor ! " 

So the throng about the fountain, watching 
the passing regiment, was silent or sarcastic; 
but it was an uneasy crowd. It jostled and 
swayed and pushed, and Philip was forced to 
grasp Mademoiselle closely for her security. 
Gradually they were forced back against the 
stone coping of the fountain, and, as Philip 
struggled to maintain his own footing, and save 
Mademoiselle from a crushing, he was startled 
almost to stupidity to hear a low but distinct 
whisper in his ear : " Be watchful and wary ! 
Be swift and silent ! The bees will soon be 
swarming ! " 

What did it mean ? Who had spoken such 
a singular message ? Philip turned slowly, not 
wishing to attract attention ; but to no purpose. 
The only familiar face he saw was that of 
Mademoiselle, his sister. What could it mean ? 

( To be continued. ) 



By Ezra Hurlburt Stafford. 

Up in the mountains the blackberries do not 
grow ripe till quite late in the summer, and 
Bessie found it very tiresome waiting. Her 
father was employed in the Carbonado mines, 
and she had never known any other home than 
the wild little settlement in the foot- hills of the 

There were great, white mountain peaks shin- 
ing all around, and the little village was sur- 
rounded by dark forests that had been growing 
there forever. 

The little girl was very much afraid of those 
dark still woods, for the people said there were 
bears and cougars and mountain lions hiding 
in them. She had never seen any of these 
dreadful animals herself. Most of all she was 
afraid of the cougars, for they had eyes that 
shone in the dark, her mother told her, and 
they did not roar like animals in picture-books, 
but made a noise like a child crying. 

But no one had seen a cougar at all since 
the mines had been opened, and sometimes, 
when Bessie would run into the house with a 
white face and hide herself behind her mother's 
chair, her father would laugh, so that she 
would n't be afraid any more, and say : 

" Why, Bessie, child, it could n't have been a 
cougar you heard. It must have been one of 
the Johnston children crying." 

It was generally something of this kind that 
had frightened her; and when Bessie had grown 
a big girl of seven years she began to think, 
like the rest, that perhaps, after all, the cougars 
had gone farther back into the wild places of 
the mountains, and would never again be seen 
about the settlement. 

Still, she could n't help being afraid of the 
woods, and always stopped at the edge, even 
though a little further in she could see prettier 
flowers than any that grew out in the sunshine. 

The blackberries did not grow in the woods. 
They were thickest along the banks of the little 

river. This year they seemed to be thicker 
than ever. Certainly there was never a happier 
little girl than Bessie on the first sunny morn- 
ing that she started out with her basket to pick 
mountain blackberries. 

She went with two other little girls. They 
walked out beyond the school-house together, 
and for a long time they could be seen among 
the bushes, picking as fast as they could. 

After they had been hard at work for half an 
hour, it began to seem as if there were never 
such very, very large baskets made in the world 
before. It seemed as if they would never get 

One of the little girls said : 

" I am sure, Bessie, they are thicker a little 
further down the river." 

" Yes, I know they are," said the other little 
girl ; " for my brother was there, and he says 
they are so thick that they only need to be 
shaken into the basket." 

" Well, perhaps — perhaps, if they 're so thick 
as that, we 'd better go there," Bessie answered 

" W T e '11 never fill our baskets here," the first 
little girl said. 

" And we can come afterward, and fill them 
a second time," said Bessie, thoughtfully ; " and 
besides, I 'm dreadfully tired reaching up, and 
my hands are all scratched with the prickles.'' 

The second little girl added, " There are no 
prickles at all on the bushes down there." 

" Is it much further?" Bessie asked; for her 
ankles began to ache. 

"Just beyond those trees." 

" But my mama can't see me if I go beyond 
those trees." 

" Oh, we '11 only be there for such a little 
while, and then we '11 come back." 

When they reached the place, the bushes did 
not have very many more berries than those 
they had left. 




'•Why, they have prickles too !" Bessie called 
out, as she gave her arm a sharp scratch. 

One of the little girls slipped on her side of 
the bushes, and tore her frock, and began to cry. 

" I 'm dreadful sorry for you, Nelly," Bessie 
said, as she also began to cry. " I guess you 'd 
better go home now, and tell your mama." 

A moment or so afterward the other little 
girl tried to pull a bush to one side, and she 
caught a "devil's-club" in her hand by mistake. 

These devil's-clubs are called so, just as devil's 
darning-needles are, because children think 
them so horrid. They are covered all over with 
sharp needles which pierce the hand. 


"I don't want to," Nelly sobbed — "not till 
I fill my basket." 

" I guess you 'd better, Nelly; and — and I '11 
give you all my berries." 

Nelly held up her basket, and Bessie poured 
all her berries into it. 

" Now it 's full ! " 

" I 'II come back after a while." 

" All right ; we '11 be picking here." 
Vol. XXII. — 104-105. 

The little girl cried with the pain, and Bessie 
tried to comfort her. 

" Would you mind, Bessie," she asked, " if I 
went home ? It — it hurts me so I can't gather 
berries any more ; and I 'm so sorry that I can't 
bring home plenty of the berries, for mama is 
going to make jelly." 

" I won't mind," Bessie said ; " and you can 
come again to-morrow — it will get well. I 'd 




go with you, only I do so want to fill my basket 

Bessie went on picking as fast as she could. 
She was all alone now, and there was n't a 
sound but the great fir-trees rustling in the air 
and the running of the brook beside her. 

She kept getting further and further away, for 
the bushes were thicker as she went in that 
direction. Her basket would soon be full, and 
then she would run home just as fast as her 
feet would carry her. 

Every now and then, as she was picking, she 
would raise her head and look all around. She 
could not see any of the houses of the village 
now, but she was not far away. 

At one side there was a little flat place cov- 
ered with tall grass, and at the further edge 
there was a ledge of rock. Beyond this rose 
the trees of the great woods, all dark and 
strange within. 

Bessie began to grow uneasy, she hardly 
knew why. She had only a little bit more to 
fill, though, and she kept picking faster and 
faster, so that she could hurry back. 

Suddenly she heard a little tiny noise, like 
that made when a newspaper is rustled on the 
floor. It must have been the wind, she thought. 

But now, at last, the basket was full, and she 
pushed the bushes aside, and turned to take 
the path back. 

As she stood at the edge of the thick grass, 
she heard something snap like a twig, in the 
trees a few feet away, and she looked up to 
see what it could be. 

She began to be a little bit frightened, and 
shivered without knowing why. 

The next instant a large head appeared 
above the ledge of rock. It was shaggy, like 
a large dog's ; but the strange, big eyes looked 
straight into hers, and she knew that a dog 
hardly ever looked at a person that way. It 
seemed to know more than a dog does. 

Then it came softly to the edge of the rock, 
and leaped down into the grass as gently as 
a cat. 

Bessie was too frightened to speak or to 
move. There was something so dreadful about 
that quiet beast. It did not make any noise; 
it did not even show its teeth as if it were 
going to eat her. 

It just came across the grass toward her, as 
a big dog might, and when it was quite near 
Bessie sank down and hid her face in the grass, 
and shut her eyes very tight. 

She kept forgetting all about the great, still 
animal that was standing over her, and found 
herself thinking of her berry-basket, and won- 
dering if she had spilled the berries. 

At last something took her gently by the 
dress, and dragged her softly over the grass to 
the ledge of rock. This ledge was steep, and 
perhaps the cougar — for that is what it was 
— thought that he would hide the little girl until 
it grew dark, and then come again and carry 
her off into the forest some other way. 

Anyway, while he was thinking what he had 
better do, there was a loud report from beyond 
the trees. This seemed to make him cautious. 
It was only a blast in the mines, but he did not 
know that. 

So he pushed the tall grass together over 
Bessie, where she lay, at the edge of the rock. 
Then the cougar pulled up more grass with his 
teeth, quite a pile of it, and covered her with it. 

When he thought that she was so thoroughly 
hidden that no one could ever find her in the 
world, he jumped upon the rock and stole back 
into the forest to wait. 

By this time Bessie did not dare to move. 
She hardly dared to breathe, even. So there 
she lay, covered thickly with the grass, for a 
long, long time. 

Meanwhile her basket was standing on the 
ground, in the afternoon sun, and not a single 
berry spilled out of it. It was very lucky that it 
had fallen so. Three or four little birds twit- 
tered about it, and helped themselves, for there 
was no one there to frighten them. Bessie 
could hear the little birds, but she did not dare 

Half an hour afterward, one of the lumber- 
men caught sight of the cougar prowling in the 
woods near the village. He had n't a gun, of 
course, but he ran into the village, and gave the 
alarm. In a moment the people were all in 
great excitement. 

Nelly began to cry at once, and told them 
all that Bessie was somewhere down in the 
bushes by the river. 

" She can't be there, for I passed by that 

i8 95 .] 



way a moment ago, and did n't see any one," 
said one of the men. 

In ten minutes twenty men, with as many- 
loaded rifles, came tramping down through the 
rhododendron flowers to the edge of the river. 

The first on the spot frightened away the lit- 
tle birds, but he stopped suddenly. 

" Oh, look here," he said; " the poor little 
thing! — here is her basket of berries. Poor 
little girl ! " 

" Look at the grass there, all trampled down," 
said another. 

Bessie's father was the next to speak. 

" Don't let 's waste time here," he shouted, 
almost beside himself. " The cougar has carried 
her into the woods. Quick, boys ! We must 
search the woods." 

'• Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " Bessie cried, starting 
up ; " I 'd much sooner you would n't — 'cause 
I 'm here." 

" But, my Bessie," her father asked, as he 
raised her in his arms to kiss her, " how did 
you get there ?" 

"The cougar put me there." 

" Did you see the cougar ? " 

" Yes; should think I did. He came up, just 
as the wolf did in Little Red Riding Hood, 
you know ; and when he heard that blast he 
left me in the grass, but covered me up that 
way, and I was afraid to move. Are my ber- 
ries safe ?" 

" Here they are, Bessie. Not one lost." 

" Well, take me home to mama." 

" I 'm going to wait here," said one of the men. 

"Why, Bill? — what for?" 

" For the cougar when he comes back for 
Bessie. I want to have five minutes' conversa- 
tion with him." 

The rest turned back with the little girl, for 
the mother was almost heartbroken. 

" We '11 have the berries for tea, mama, with 
cream," said Bessie joyfully, on reaching home. 

Her mother kissed her, with the tears in her 
eyes that mothers always have when they have 
almost lost their little ones. 

" And I won't go there again without — " 

"Without what, Bessie ? " asked her father. 

" Without a gun." 

In the dusk of evening Bessie sat at the 
window, and was very quiet. Outside it grew 
darker and darker, and the stars came out 
above the silver mountain-peaks, and the moon 
shone softly down. But the forest was black 
and lonely, and very, very still. 

Suddenly, from the bushes by the river, Bes- 
sie heard a rifle-shot. She tried at first to keep 
back the sobs ; at last she could n't any more, 
and commenced to cry. 

" Why, Bessie dear, what are you crying for ? " 

" I can't — I c-can't help it, mama." 

" Tell me what is the matter, my darling ? " 

" I 'm so s-sorry for that poor old cougar. I 
just know that Bill has gone and shot him, and 
he was so good — for a cougar — and k-kind to 
me not to eat me up ; and I know that he 
was n't going to, at all, when he saw I was such 
a little girl. He did n't even give me a tiny 
little bite to see what I was like ; and I think 
it 's hateful to kill him. It 's not — I think it 's 
not hon'rable ! " 


By Delia Hart Stone. 

If Maude were a little lady. 

Who did no work at all ; 
And if Kate were a little housemaid. 

Who did the work for all ; 

And if my little lady 

Were sad the livelong day ; 

And if the little housemaid 
Were always glad and gay : 

I 'd rather be the housemaid, 
And do the work for all, 

Than be the little lady, 
And never work at all. 

By Elizabeth Cumings. 

Little Gustus Gerlach sat on the door-step 
■watching Dietbold Sponenburg, the tinker, 
mend a kettle. Dietbold was an idle, thriftless 
fellow, but the children loved him, for his head 
was as full of stories as it could hold ; and the 
grown folks tolerated and excused him, for he 
was handy to have about, and his disposition 
was as pleasant as a summer day. 

" What makes you do tinkering for a living, 
Dietbold ? " asked Gustus. 

" Oh, there are reasons enough for it," re- 
plied the tinker. " There is no one else here- 
about who can ; then I was n't brought up to 
do anything in particular, and tinkering came 
natural. It takes me round from house to 
house sociable-like, and it 's easy. There 's 
reason enough for anything, Gusty, if you set 
about finding it." 

" What are you thinking about now ? " said 
Gustus after a time. " The two wrinkles are 
over your nose that you once told me were 
' thinking wrinkles.' I hope you are thinking 
about a story." 

" I am," said Dietbold; "I am thinking about 
a wonderful man whose name was Herr Von 
Stopplebottle ; but perhaps I 'd better not tell 
the story about him — it may make you afraid." 

" I 'm not afraid of anything," cried Gustus 
impatiently. " I wish you 'd tell it at once." 

" Now, don't you be in a hurry," said Diet- 
bold slowly. " Folks like you, Gusty, who 
have no deliberation, and who are always in a 
hurry, don't live out half their days. You '11 
never catch me risking my life that way"; and 
to show his own prudence he polished his 
solder-iron several minutes before he resumed : 

" The Herr Von Stopplebottle about whom 
I was thinking lived a great many years ago, 
when the world was worse than it is now. 
When he was a little younker, like you, he went 
out into the world to seek his fortune. He 
had half a silver sixpence in his pocket, for 
luck, and at his side hung the sword of his 
great-great-grandfather, who had fought against 
the Turks, and all his baggage was tied up in 
a red silk handkerchief slung upon his back. 



" From land to land he went, killing lions 
and tigers, and — and — " 

" Elephants ? " suggested Gustus. 

" Yes, and elephants," said Dietbold ; " but 
when he was twenty years old he met with a 
most extraordinary adventure. 

" In the kingdom of the Three Blue Daffo- 
dils a terrible serpent, called Theysay, lay coiled 
about a castle where lived a lovely princess. 
Herr Von Stopplebottle determined to slay the 

ing exactly seven days he entered the dark 
wood where, it was said, the serpent's tail, the 
only part of its body that was vulnerable, lay 
concealed. Scarcely had he gone three rods, 
ere he beheld something that looked liked a 
round gray log. 

" Instinct whispered it was the serpent. In 
his childhood he had been told that animals of 
this description are often numbed into inactiv- 
ity on hearing words in a foreign tongue ; so, as 


monster and deliver the young lady, who for 
many years had been afraid to put her little 
nose out of the window, lest it should be 
snapped off by Theysay. 

" He bought a bottle of commonsense, a 
medicine quite unknown in the land of the 
Three Blue Daffodils; and he sharpened his 
sword till it had an edge as keen as a razor 
before he started on his journey. After travel- 

he raised his sword, he pronounced this charm 
taught him by an Arabian sage : 

" Onery, Twoery, Zickory, Zan, 
Hollowbone, Crack o' bone, Tabitha, San ! 

" As his sword fell the serpent dropped apart 
like a rope of sand, but, instead of blood, what 
do you think flowed out of the wound ? 

" Sawdust, nothing but sawdust, and it con- 

8 3 o 


tinued running till the serpent's skin was as flat 
as a pan-cake. 

" The friends of the lovely princess were at 
first displeased with Herr Von Stopplebottle. 
They fancied that in some way the serpent 
was an honor to the family. But when they 
saw that the princess was far more beautiful 
at liberty than she was while imprisoned, and 
when Herr Von Stopplebottle had given them a 
big tablespoonful of common-sense all around, 
they felt better, and made a large party for him, 
and presented him with a bag full of gold and 
a diamond ring. And when he took his leave, 
they all — even the lovely princess herself — 
kissed him on both cheeks, and said : 

" ' Good luck and long life ! 

Come this way if you want a wife, 
Herr Von Stopplebottle.' 

" His next adventure was with a giant named 
Sham, whose house was as big as a mountain, 
whose horses were as big as elephants, and 
whose favorite dish for dinner was stewed 
gentlemen. Ah, but he was strong, though ! 

" When Herr Von Stopplebottle knocked at 
the giant's front door, that gentleman looked 
out of his upper window, and growled : 

" ' He 's too lean ; but with plenty of sheep- 
fat and red pepper, perhaps he '11 do ! ' 

" Then he picked his teeth and smacked his 
lips and skipped down-stairs to greet his visitor. 

" ' A fine morning to you, my little friend,' 
said the giant, bowing gracefully. ' I hope 
you are well ? ' 

" ' Very well indeed, thank you,' said Herr 
Von Stopplebottle. 

" ' I 'm very glad to hear it,' said the giant. 
' You look well. Next to being well, I value 
appearing well. Walk in and tell me the news.' 

" Herr Von Stopplebottle took out of his 
pocket a large letter addressed in red ink to 
' The Most Honorable Lord High Mightiness, 
the Giant Sham,' and bowing low presented it, 
saying as he did so, ' Here, your Majesty, is 
my news.' 

" Now the giant always smothered his visitors 
as soon as they crossed his threshold ; but the 
letter made him forgetful. He turned the en- 
velope over and over, while Herr Von Stopple- 
bottle sat down in one of the big parlor-chairs 
and made himself comfortable. But the letter 

was soaked with truth, which affected the giant 
as chloroform affects us ; and before he had 
read three words he fell fast asleep and was soon 
snoring. Our hero drew a little phial from his 
pocket and wet the letter several times with 
fresh truth. Wonderful to tell! — in just five 
minutes the giant fell in pieces. He was as hol- 
low as a drum; and his own servants swept up 
all there was left of him, which was only his out- 
side, and threw the pieces into the kitchen fire. 

" The giant Sham dead, his great house, 
with all it contained, and his kingdom, which 
was as large as Germany and Austria together, 
became the property of Herr Von Stopplebottle. 
Grown tired of adventure, he concluded to settle 
down and lead a quiet life; so he asked the 
lovely princess whom he had delivered from 
the serpent to become his wife. She consented, 
and came the very next week with all her fam- 
ily, and a baggage-wagon full of bandboxes, 
from the land of the Three Blue Daffodils. Then 
there was a gorgeous wedding and a grand 
feast, after which they dwelt in the great house. 

" Herr Von Stopplebottle reigned a thousand 
years and one day ; and then he died, to the 
great sorrow of the lovely princess, who built for 
his ashes an expensive mausoleum, which, Gusty, 
my child, is the nicest kind of a monument. 

" But, alas ! after the manner of the things 
of this world, it has long since crumbled into 

" One of these days," cried Gustus confi- 
dently, " I will do just such deeds as that great 
Herr did. I '11 have a sword, and go about 
the world killing lions and serpents and giants. 
You see if I don't ! " 

"Come, Gustus," called his mother; "little 
boys must to bed when the clock strikes nine. 
Bid Dietbold good night, and run up-stairs." 

" Won't you hold a candle for me ? " said 
Gustus, as he started to obey. " It 's fear- 
ful dark up-stairs." 

" But you are going to fight serpents and 
giants when you are a man," said his mother. 

" I 'm not in the least afraid of lions or 
serpents or giants," said Gustus earnestly; "but 
when I go up-stairs at night I 'm always afraid 
that something will grab my feet; and — I 
guess — I 'm — a little — afraid of the dark ! " 

So his mother held the candle for him. 



By James Otis. 

\Beguti in the May number.'] 

Chapter VII. 


As a matter of course, business was not to 
be thought of on this day, and for two very 
good reasons. 

First, there was every cause to believe Skip 
Jellison and his followers would do all they 
could to prevent the boy from Saranac from 
engaging in any business; and secondly, be- 
cause it seemed absolutely necessary Carrots 
and his friends should discuss the situation. 

The boys were forced to earn such food as 
they might need, or go hungry, and yet Skip 
Jellison would try to prevent their doing busi- 
ness on the street. 

Of course they could stand up and battle for 
their rights, probably receiving assistance from 
some of those boys whom Master Jellison had 
disciplined by the same methods pursued with 
Teddy ; but such a struggle would hinder their 
business affairs. 

If it became necessary to fight every time 
Teddy sold a paper, not only would the money- 
making be sadly curtailed, but danger of arrest 
would be very great. 

" I reckon I would n't get off as easy if I was 
hauled up before that judge ag'in," Teddy said 
to his companion when the two had taken 
leave of Teenie Massey, and were walking in 
the direction of the water-front. " But I don't 
see how I 'm goin' to get along without fightin', 
'less I 'm willin' to lie right down an' let Skip 
Jellison tread on me." 

" See here! " Carrots said suddenly, as if be- 
lieving he had a thoroughly good plan in mind. 
" You 've allers lived on a farm, have n't you?" 

li Yes." 

" Well, now I have an idea it would be nice 
to stay in the country. S'posin' you an' me go 

right off an' get a job on some farm. That 
would settle Skip in great shape, an' we 'd 
have a mighty good time." 

" It would settle Skip, there 's no question 
'bout that," Teddy replied. " But when it 
comes to havin' a good time, you 'd find you 'd 
made a big mistake. I 've had all the farmin' 
I want. A fellow never 'd get ahead in the 
world if he worked round for nothin' but his 
board an' clothes on a farm." 

" You can't get even that much in the city, 
'less you have money to start a reg'lar stand." 

" That 's jest it ! That 's jest what a fellow 
wants to do ! He ought ter make up his mind 
he 's goin' to have a place, an' buy it. After 
that he can 'low to have a store, an' get one, 
too. All he has to do is to work hard, an' 
save his money for a while." 

" I don't know 'bout that," Carrots replied, 
with a grave shake of his head. " I 've tried 
as hard as any fellow to get 'long, but don't 
own more 'n ninety cents in the world to-day." 

" Well, I 'm going to try it in the city till I 
make up my mind it can't be done, an' p'rhaps 
then I 'd be willin' to go out on a farm ; but 
it '11 be a good while before that time comes, 
Carrots. Where are you goin' now ? " 

" Down on one of these piers, where we can 
talk without Skip's crowd sneakin' up on us." 

By this time they were near Fulton ferry, and 
Carrots had but little difficulty, familiar as he 
was with the locality, in finding what he sought. 

A pile of merchandise near the end of a pier 
afforded many convenient openings in which 
two boys could stow themselves snugly away 
without fear of being seen; and, entering one, 
Carrots proceeded to make himself comfortable 
by crawling to the very farthest corner, and 
there lighting a cigarette. 

" Say, you 're an awful good fellow, Carrots," 
Teddy began, as if he had suddenly made a 

8 3 i 

8 3 2 



very important discovery. " You 've taken 
right hold to help me, jest the same 's if we 'd 
allers knowed each other, an' done a good deal 
more 'n any chum of mine I ever had. Now, I 
don't see any way to pay you back yet a while." 
" I don't want to be paid back," Carrots 
replied decidedly. " I tried to help you through 
this thing, 'cause it was a shame to let Skip Jel- 
lison have his way, as he allers counts on; an' 
what I 've done is n't much." 

straight, I 've got a little settlement to make," 
and Carrots began a problem in arithmetic, 
using a bit of smooth board as paper, and mak- 
ing the figures thereon with a very short fragment 
of a lead-pencil. " Now, I sold them papers 
of yours, and here 's the money," he added. 

" But some of 'em was so muddy you could 
not have sold them," Teddy objected. 

"Yes, I did; every one. You see, I wiped the 
mud off, an' then folded 'em inside, so 's it 


" Indeed it is. I 'd been on my way to 
jail now, if you had n't taken hold of this thing. 
We 've got to straighten matters somehow. In 
the first place, I want to give back the money 
you handed me when I was 'rested." 

" Better keep it. It may be two or three 
days before we can do any work." 

" But I 'd rather start square," Teddy replied, 
as he counted out the pennies which he had 
kept carefully apart from his own hoard, and 
literally forced them upon his companion. 

" Well, if you 're goin' to square up so 


would n't show. It don't pay to let papers 
spoil jest 'cause there 's a little dirt on 'em." 

" But it is n't right I should take it," Teddy 
replied gravely. " You stopped your work 
yesterday and to-day jest to help me along, 
an', of course, have n't earned a cent. Now, 
the best way will be to give me what I paid 
out for the papers, an' take the profit yourself, 
'cause it really b'longs to you." 

" I won't do anything of the kind," Carrots 
replied, in a tone of determination. " It ain't 
certain as I should have worked yesterday." 




" Course you would. You 'd begun when I 
first saw you, an' had earned some money." 

"Well, then, that 's jest it! I got enough 
yesterday to keep me, an' by night we '11 have 
some plan to get the best of Skip Jellison." 

Teddy insisted that his companion should 
take the profits resulting from the sale of the 
newspapers, and Carrots quite as strongly re- 
fused to do anything of the kind; therefore 
the matter necessarily remained unsettled, the 
boy from Saranac holding the money in trust, 
as it were. 

" Have a cigarette ? " Carrots asked, with 
the air of a man of leisure, as he pulled sev- 
eral from his pocket. 

" I don't want any, Carrots. I never smoke." 

" What ? " 

" I don't smoke, and, what 's more, I ain't 
goin' to. After all you 've done for me, it 
seems kind er tough that I should turn 'round 
an' talk to you 'bout spendin' money ; but 
there 's one of the very reasons why you ain't 
got a stand. Instead of hustlin' to make a 
nickel, you spend one buyin' cigarettes, or else 
waste a good deal of time standin' on the streets 
smokin'. It would make a big difference if you 
did n't like sich things ; an', besides, it hurts a 
boy to smoke 'em." 

Carrots looked at Teddy in surprise. 

He failed to understand why a fellow could 
not amuse himself smoking cigarettes, and was 
thoroughly bewildered to hear an argument 
made as to the expense. 

" Well, I '11 be jiggered ! It looks to me 
like as if you 'd come down here tryin' to be 
too awful good. I wish I had money enough 
to buy a glass case to put you in. I reckon 
I could sell the lot up to the museum." 

" That 's right ; laugh jest as much as you 've 
a mind to, Carrots. You can't make me mad 
after all you 've done ; but what I said is true, 
jest the same, an' don't you forget it." 

" All right," Carrots replied placidly. " I 
reckon it won't cost very much till these 're 
gone ; so, s'posin' we talk 'bout how we 're 
goin' inter business ? Skip 's got it in for me 
now, an' I '11 have to shin 'round as lively as 
you do." 

" There 's only one thing 'bout it. We must 
'tend to work the same 's if he was n't livin'." 

" But he '11 jump down on us, an' then we '11 
get into another fight." 

" I s'pose that 's so. Ain't there some place 
in the town jest as good for paper-sellin' as 
'round the City Hall?" 

" Well, I don't know. You see, I 've allers 
worked there, an' am 'quainted with the fellows, 
so it seems to me it 's 'bout the only spot. 
If you should try down by South Ferry, or 
'round here anywhere, everybody 'd do their 
best to drive you out, same 's Skip did. I tfloiig 
up to City Hall, so they can't shove me away 
from there ; an' the bootblacks in any place else 
would raise a row if I come takin' trade away." 

" It don't seem as though they 'd dare to 
do such things," said Teddy thoughtfully. 
" You 've as much right on one street as an- 

" That 's the way I s'pose it looks to a 
stranger ; but it ain't so, jest the same. Now 
if a new fellow come where I was workin' I 'd 
turn in with the others to drive him off, of 

" Then how does a new boy like me start ? " 

" He has ter hustle, an' take it rough, same 's 
you 're doin'. When the others find out you 're 
bound to stick, they '11 let you alone." 

" Then, in that case, the sooner we 'tend to 
business the better. If we 're goin' to have a 
row, let 's get over with it as soon as we can." 

" That 's what I was countin' on ; but I '11 
tell you we 'd better not work to-day. It 's no 
use to rush, an' by to-morrow Skip '11 be over 
his mad fit a little, most likely. He won't do 
anything but hunt for us till night, an' in the 
mornin' he '11 need money so bad he '11 have to 
go to work." 

Teddy realized that Carrots's advice must be 
good, since he was thoroughly acquainted with 
the ways of the city; yet at the same time he 
was impatient because of the enforced idleness 
when it seemed necessary he should be at work. 

Then Carrots proceeded to explain to his 
newly made friend some of the peculiarities of 
his associates, and gave him an insight into 
their manner of living. 

" Now I 'm countin' on your takin' half of 
my house," Carrots said. " You see, you 've 
got either to go to the Newsboys' Lodging 
House, or else hire a room somewhere, if you 




want ter swell, an' that 's dreadful expensive. 
When the weather ain't too cold, boys can 
sleep 'round 'most anywhere." 

" How does it happen that you have a 
house ? Do you live with your folks ? " 

" I ain't got any, an' never had ; but the 
place where I stop is mighty swell, I can tell 
you, though we can't go home till after dark, 
'cause I don't want the folks what hire the prop- 
erty to think I came for the rent." 

Teddy was mystified by this reply ; but 
thought it advisable not to ask for particulars. 

" I suppose you get your grub anywhere ? " 
he said interrogatively. 

" Yes, when I 've got the money. When I 
ain't, I go without. Seein' 's how neither of us 
has had any breakfast, what do you say to huntin' 
for a place where we can git five-cent soup ?" 

This seemed to Teddy like a necessity, inas- 
much as he had had neither supper nor breakfast, 
and a few moments later the boys were busily 
employed over two plates of soup. 

When the meal was ended the two, whose 
only business on this day was to keep beyond 
the reach of Skip Jellison, walked up-town that 
Teddy might see as much of the city as possi- 
ble during his enforced idleness, and they did 
not return until a late hour. 

After a great many precautions, and an un- 
usual amount of scurrying to and fro, Carrots 
conducted his friend to the residence in the 
rear of the shop, and was delighted by hear- 
ing it praised in no stinted terms. 

" It 's great ! " Teddy said approvingly. 
" A fellow that 's got a place like this do n't 
need to hire any rooms. I 'd rather have it 
than a reg'lar house, any day." 

"So had I," the proud proprietor replied; 
" but one thing is that you can't get here in 
the daytime. I reckon if they knew a fellow was 
livin' in these boxes, they 'd fire him out." 

Then Carrots brought forth such of the pro- 
visions as had been left over from the previous 
evening's feast ; and before he had finished this 
task a shrill whistle from the alleyway caused 
him to leap to his feet quickly, as he exclaimed : 

" Now, there 's Teenie Massey ag'in ! I do 
wish he 'd stay away once in a while. There 
won't be any room for three of us to sleep here, 
an' I 'm goin' to tell him so." 

As he ceased speaking Carrots gave vent to 
a prolonged whistle, and a few seconds later the 
sound as of some one climbing over the fence 
told that Master Massey was in what might be 
called the vestibule of Carrots's residence. 

It was evident that Teenie was not wholly 
at ease when he made his appearance. Even 
one who had never seen him before would 
have understood there was something on his 
mind, and he greeted his friends in such a pecu- 
liar manner as to cause Carrots to ask : 

"What 's the matter with you? Ain't any 
of your folks dead, is there ? " 

" Oh, I 'm all right," Teenie replied. "What 
made you think there was anything wrong? " 

" Why, you look so — kind er queer." 

Teenie was silent for a few moments, as if 
revolving some weighty question in his mind, 
and then, with the air of one who is deter- 
mined to have the worst over, said : 

" Look here, Carrots ! I 've allers been a 
friend of yours, ain't I, even if I have stood in 
with Skip Jellison once in a while ? " 

" Course you have, Teenie. What 's troublin' 
you ? " 

"You might think I was n't actin' jest square, 
so I wanted to have it straight." 

" Have what straight ? " Carrots asked im- 

" 'Bout how you an' I stand. Now, you see, 
I met Skip this afternoon — " 

" Did n't tell him where I lived, did you ? " 
Carrots asked sternly. 

" Course not. What do you take me for ? 
But he had a good deal to say 'bout you." 

" If he don't ever hurt me any worse 'n he 
can with his tongue, I reckon I '11 get along all 

" He says he 's goin' to drive both of you fel- 
lows out er the city, if he don't do anything else 
the rest of the year." 

" Then he '11 have a chance to get through 
with a good bit of loafin', for we 're not goin' to 
get up an' dust jest to please him." 

" But he 's awful mad." 

" That don't hurt me any. He can boil over 
if he wants to, for all I care." 

" Well, now, Carrots, he wanted me to do 
somethin', an' I could n't get out er promisin'." 

" What was it ? " the host asked impatiently. 

i8 9 5-: 



" You won't get mad ?" 

" Course not, 'less you 're givin' somethin' 
away ag'in' me." 

" He wanted me to bring a letter down here. 
You see, he kind er thinks I know where you 
live, an' so he told me I 'd got to take it. I 
could n't help myself, Carrots, 'cause he hung 
right on, an' jest as likely 's not he 'd have 
given me a thumpin' if I had n't done it." 

" Oh, that 's all right. Fish up your letter." 

Teenie drew from his pocket a piece of soiled 
paper and gave it to Carrots, who, with the 
candle in his hand, opened it carefully and with 
an air of the utmost gravity. 

Fortunately, so far as the better understand- 
ing of this story is concerned, the important 
document was preserved by Teddy ; therefore 
we are enabled to give an exact copy of it : 

Chapter VIII. 


It was fully five minutes before Carrots suc- 
ceeded in deciphering the letter brought by 
Teenie, and then he pretended to treat the 
matter as a huge joke. 

" Why, Skip must have spent pretty nigh the 
whole day gettin' up that thing," he said, as he 
handed the missive to Teddy. " I wonder 
what he made the moon there for ? " 

" Moon ? " Teenie repeated. " Why, he 
told me it was a skull, with a dagger under- 
neath it and with bones on the sides, same 's 
pirates have on their flags; an' the two coffins 
was for you an' the other fellow." 

" Who are the two duffers down there at the 
bottom ? A couple of pirates ? " 

" No ; they 're the committee," Teenie ex- 
plained. " I s'pose one of 'em 's Skip, an' the 
other 's Sid." 

" So Sid 's taken a hand in this ; he 's gone 
to drivin' boys out er the town, has he ? Well, 
Sid 's a nice plum to do anything of the kind ! 
'T is n't more 'n a month ago since he was 
gettin' right down on his knees, coaxin' Skip 
to let him stay to black boots. It would be 
a mighty long while before I 'd ask Skip Jelli- 
son to 'low me to do anything ! " 

" Them two are awful thick now. Kind er 
stand in pardners, I reckon. Sid says he 's 
goin' to run Fulton Ferry on the Brooklyn side, 
an' Skip 's to take care of this end, as soon as 
they drive the fellow from Saranac away." 

" Oh, they are, eh ? Well, p'rhaps it '11 be 
a good while before they finish up the job 
they 've got on hand, so I guess they won't 
hurt theirselves workin' this season. What do 
you think about it, Teddy ? " 

The young gentleman from Saranac made 
no reply, but folded the paper carefully and 
put it in his pocket, as if for future reference. 

" What 're you goin' to do 'bout it ? " Teenie 
asked, so earnestly that Carrots looked at him 

" Do 'bout it ? " the latter replied. " Why, 
let him go ahead. What else can we do ? 
I 've seen a good many better-lookin' pictures 
than he made there, an' if that 's all he does 
he won't hurt anybody." 

" But see here, Carrots : Skip says you '11 
have to leave this town if you stand in with 
Teddy, an' he 's goin' to make it awful hot." 

" Well, I s'pose if he can do that he will ; 
so what 's the use talkin' 'bout it ? We can't 
help anything, as I see." 

Teenie understood that his friend was not 

8 3 6 



absolutely satisfied regarding his connection 
with the matter, and therefore refused to make 
any explanation as to what his future course 
might be. This lack of confidence troubled the 
messenger ; for Carrots was a particular friend 
of his, and he did not wish anything to impair 
the kindly feeling existing between them. 

So he was glad when Carrots said : 

" I ain't blamin' you, Teenie ; but I can tell 
you one thing sure : what ain't known can't be 
told. If Skip Jellison should 'low he was jest 
about goin' to thump the life out er you if 
you did n't repeat everything I said, why, you 
might have to give up. So I don't think it 's 
best for us to have any talk. Of course I 'm 
sure you won't tell where I 'm livin'." 

'■ I would n't say a word 'bout that, Carrots, 
an' you know it." 

" I b'lieve you, Teenie, I b'lieve you ; but 
you understand how things are workin'. Teddy 
an' me are in a pretty bad hole jest now, an' 
we 've got to be careful. If you could kind er 
tell us once in a while what Skip was thinkin' 
of doin', it might help along ; but I won't ask 
it in case you 're 'fraid, 'cause I don't want ter 
get any other fellow in a scrape." 

" I '11 do all I can, Carrots ; an' now I 
reckon I 'd better be goin'. Mother told me 
I must come home to-night." 

" All right, old man. Be sure, when you get 
on the street, that Skip ain't watchin' so 's to 
find out where you 've been." 

" He can't be 'round here, 'cause I went up 
to supper first, an' walked right down from the 
house without seein' him." 

Then Teenie took his departure, and the 
victims of Master Skip's wrath were left alone 
to discuss the situation, which was certainly 
beginning to look serious for them. 

" Now what do you think 'bout it ? " Carrots 
asked, after seeing Teenie over the fence. 

" Well, I don't see as it 's any different from 
what it was before. We knew he was bound 
to drive me away, an' it was n't likely he 'd 
stop after what little he 's done. Now, Carrots, 
there 's jest this much about it : you would n't 
be in any fuss with him if it was n't for me, an' 
you can square things up this very minute by 
sayin' you 've shook me. Why not do it ? " 

" 'Cause I kind er like you, Teddy, an' then, 

ag'in, I would n't give Skip the satisfaction of 
knowin' he 'd made me do what he wanted." 

" Better that than have to go out of the busi- 

" I sha'n't do anything of the kind. I reckon 
you and I can fix things up somehow, an' I '11 
tell you what I 'd like, Teddy. It seems as if 
you knew how to manage better 'n I, an' why 
would n't it be a good idea to go inter pard- 
nership ? I can earn as much money in pleas- 
ant weather blackin' boots as you will by sellin' 
papers, and I '11 'gree not to spend a cent 
more 'n you. You shall take care of the cash, 
an' say what we '11 have for grub, an' all that 
sort of thing." 

" You want us to go inter business, eh ? " 

" That 's jest it. ' Teddy an' Carrots.' My 
name don't sound very well. Might call it 
Joseph ; but then nobody 'd know who you 

" It ought ter be 'Thurston an' Williams,' of 
course. Pardners don't use their first names." 

" Now you 've struck it ! " Carrots cried in 
delight. " Is it a whack ? " 

" It is," Teddy replied gravely, and thus was 
a very weighty matter settled : a business con- 
nection formed which might possibly not re- 
ceive any great amount of attention from the 
newspaper reporters, but a solid one in the 
opinion of the members composing the firm. 

" Then here 's the money we 've got on 
hand," and Carrots emptied his pockets imme- 
diately. " You keep the whole, an' we can tell 
every night jest how we stand." 

" But you must n't put in all your money, 
Carrots. You see, I have n't got as much, an' 
that would n't be fair." 

Then Teddy counted his wealth, which con- 
sisted, including the profits made on the news- 
papers, of forty-three cents. 

" That 's the size of it. You put in jest as 
much, an' we '11 start fair," said Teddy. 

Carrots insisted that it would be better for 
him to contribute the entire amount of his 
capital ; but Teddy refused to listen to any- 
thing of the kind, and, finally, the question was 
settled by the cashier's putting into one par- 
ticular pocket, which was to be reserved for 
the use of the firm, the sum of eighty-six cents. 

" Now, then, when are you goin' to work ? " 

is 9 5-: 



Teddy asked, with a business-like air. " It 
won't do for us to spend this money for grub, 
'cause we shall want somethin' to eat to-mor- 
row. What do you say to tryin' it 'round 
South Ferry ? " 

"If we do that, Skip will be sure he has 
driven us out. I think we 'd better go right 

(SEE PAGE 839.) 

up to City Hall, an' start in straight; but the 
first thing is, where '11 we live ? " 

" What 's the matter with this place ? " 

" I ain't so certain but Teenie '11 give the 
snap away. If Skip gets hold of him he can 
make him tell 'most anything." 

" No need of movin' till we find out that 
Skip really knows where we are. I ain't so 
sure but it would be a good idea to stay right 
here, anyhow, an' let him do whatever he can." 

" But you see, he 'd tell the folks in the store, 
an' they 'd drive us out." 

" That might be," Teddy replied thought- 

fully. " But we 've got plenty of time to think 
it over. Now what we want is to earn a news- 
stand the very first thing. Then we '11 have to 
get a chair outside, an' you could tend shop 
while I was selling papers anywhere trade hap- 
pened to be the best." 

" Won't that be fine ! " Carrots cried in a 
tone of enthusiasm. 
" How the fellows' eyes 
would stick out if we 
was runnin' a reg'lar 
shop!" But then he 
added reflectively, " I 
don't see how that 's 
goin' to be done. It 's 
been a pretty tight 
squeeze for me to get 
enough to buy grub 
with, to say nothin' of 
swellin'; an' if that 
would n't be swellin', 
I don't know what to 
call it ! " 

" 'Tend right to your 
work, Carrots, an' don't 
spend money on cigar- 
ettes, or such things as 
that, an' it won't take 
long to get what we 
need. I don't reckon 
one of them stands 
costs any more 'n ten 

" Ten dollars ! " Car- 
rots exclaimed. " Why 
don't you buy the City 
Hall an' start in in 
great shape? Ten dollars! Why, we could n't 
earn that much in a month ! " 

"Well, s'posin' we could n't? S'posin' it 
took two months ? Would n't that be better 'n 
the way you 're workin' now ? " 

" Yes, I reckon it would ; but I don't b'lieve 
we 'd ever get that much together." 

"You do as I want you to, an' we '11 see 
what '11 happen. Now, look at it jest this way, 
Carrots: If you made twenty-three cents for 
me yesterday afternoon sellin' papers, s'posin' 
you put in the whole day at it could n't you 
have made more 'n fifty cents ? " 

8 3 8 


" I could do better 'n that blackin' boots, even 
when business was n't good." 

" Well, there you are! If you earn fifty cents, 
an' enough to buy grub, an' I do the same, it 
would n't take us but ten days to have the 
money we wanted." 

Carrots rubbed his nose reflectively, thereby 
adding to the smudge of blacking which now 
extended nearly from ear to ear; and, noticing 
it, Teddy asked earnestly : 

" Say, why don't you wash your face ? " 

" What would be the good of that ? " 

" You 'd look more decent, anyhow. I 
b'lieve folks 'd rather buy things of a fellow 
who 's clean than of one lookin' like an Injun." 

" But when a man has his boots shined he 
does n't care whether my face is white or red, 
so long 's he gets a polish." 

" You ought ter care, Carrots. Is n't there 
any water 'round here ? " 

"Yes; there 's a hydrant in the other cor- 
ner of the yard." 

" Take this piece of soap an' my towel, an' 
go over there. Try it once, an' see how much 
better you '11 feel." 

As he spoke, Teddy unrolled his newspaper 
valise, took from it the articles mentioned, and 
handed them to his friend, who looked at the 
collection in a suspicious sort of manner, as if 
questioning whether it would be exactly safe 
for him to make the experiment suggested. 

" I '11 do it ! By jinks ! I '11 do it jest once 
for luck ! " he said ; and five minutes later the 
operation had been completed. 

Carrots, with every freckle showing on his 
face, his skin glowing from the unwonted use 
of soap and water, and a broad streak of dirt 
left just in front of his ears and extending 
under his chin, returned to the dwelling almost 

" There ! if you feel as much better as you 
look, you must be jest humpin' yourself," Teddy 
said admiringly. " Only you did n't wash far 
enough back." 

" What 's the matter now ? " Carrots asked 
in surprise. 

" It seems to me as if you 'd shoved the dirt 
back instead of washin' it off." 

" Well, see here, Teddy : I did this thing to 
please you, did n't I ? " 

" Yes." 

" Well, I 've sworn off now. I don't b'lieve 
in puttin' on frills anyhow, an' all this talk 'bout 
water makin' you feel good is all in your eye. 
If we 've got to earn ten dollars in ten days, I 
reckon it '11 take all my time shinin', 'stead of 
tryin' to look so mighty fine that a man 'd 
think I would n't dare to pull the stopper 
out er a blackin'-bottle for fear of smuttin' my 
fingers. I s'pose if I lived on a farm, same 's 
you did, I 'd wash when I saw the others, an' 
then it would n't come so unhandy. That 's 
where I wish I was now — in the country," he 
added, as he clasped his hands around one 
knee and rocked himself to and fro on the 
impromptu bed. 

" You would n't wish that very long if you 
had one taste of it." 

" I ain't so sure of that. I tell you, when a 
fellow's got a bed to get inter, an' plenty of stuff 
to eat, it 's a pretty soft snap. I 'd like to try 
it 'bout a month. 

" That would be long enough," Teddy said ; 
and then, by way of putting an end to the con- 
versation, he nestled into the straw as if to go 
to sleep. 

Carrots moved about very gingerly, as if his 
whole nature had been changed by the washing 
of his face. At last he blew out the candle, 
snuffed the glowing end with his thumb and 
finger, and followed his friend's example. 

Next morning Carrots was aroused by the 
sun shining upon his face, and, after awakening 
his friend, he explained why it was necessary 
for them to leave the packing-case home at 
such an early hour. 

From the Company's funds was spent suffi- 
cient to buy two bowls of soup ; and then, 
advised by Carrots, Teddy agreed to remain 
in the vicinity of South Ferry, rather than to 
make an attempt to do business around City 
Hall Park, until Master Jellison's anger should 
have had time to subside. 

" I '11 see you when you come up for the 
afternoon papers," Carrots said as they parted. 
" But you can count on my hustling the best I 
know how toward gettin' to-day's share of the 
ten dollars." 

" Be sure you don't have any trouble with 
Skip," Teddy cautioned his friend, and then 

i8 95 .] 



the two separated, each intent on swelling the 
Company's funds to the greatest possible extent 
before night. 

When noon came, and it was necessary for 
Teddy to replenish his stock, he failed to find 
his partner around the newspaper-offices. 

This absence of Carrots did not trouble him 
particularly, since Teddy was quite confident 
the boy was attending to his own business; and 
he felt positive it would not be safe for him to 
search very long after the missing partner, lest 
he should encounter the enemy. 

Therefore it was that he returned to his la- 
bors without consultation with his business as- 
sociate; and when it was so late that there could 
be no danger the occupants of the store would 
see him entering the dwelling in the comer of 
the yard, he again clambered over the fence. 

Master Carrots was at home, and, as could 
be told from his face, laboring under the most 
intense excitement. 

" I 've done it ! " he cried to Teddy before 
the latter had time to speak. " I 've done it, 
an' we '11 have to give up the pardnership busi- 
ness, 'cause this is the best chance I '11 get." 

" Done what ? " Teddy asked in surprise. 

" Got a place to work on a farm." 

" Are you goin' to leave the city ? " Teddy 
asked anxiously. 

" I '11 have to, of course, if I do that. You 
see, it happened this way : Every fellow I met 
this mornin' told me what Skip had threatened 
to do, an' I reckon he means business. He 
says we 've both got to leave this town before 
he goes to work ag'in, an' what 's more, he an' 
Sid Barker would n't let me stay 'round Printin' 
House Square at all. I had to take a sneak, 
or else stand the chance of gettin' 'rested for 
fightin', so I went down to Vesey Street Market. 
Trade was n't so awful good there, an' I was 
kind er loafin' 'round when a farmer come up 
an' says, ' Hello, son. Don't know of any boy 
'round here what wants to go out in the coun- 
try, do you ? ' Well, you know, that struck me 
jest right. I said of course I knew a boy, an' 
I showed him right up, 'cause it was me, an' I 

( To be con 

had n't far to go to find myself. Well, the 
farmer acted as if he was tickled 'most to 
death, an' he said as how I was the very kind 
of a fellow he was lookin' for ; that he 'd give 
me a good home an' make it cheerful ; besides, 
I 'd have lots of fun runnin' in the fields." 

" How much is he goin' to pay you?" Teddy 

" Well, you see, we ain't settled on that yet. 
He thought I 'd better come out and try it for a 
while, so 's he could tell how much I was worth, 
an' then we 'd talk 'bout wages afterward." 

" An' are you willin' to go on them promises ? " 

"Willin'? Why, it 's a reg'lar snap! I 'd 
like to stay here an' try to buy that stand with 
you ; but what 's the use if Skip's goin' to 
raise sich a row ? Besides, if we 've got to 
sneak 'round all the poorest places to work, we 
sha'n't make enough to pay for our grub, an' 
out there I '11 have all I can eat." 

" Well, Carrots, I 'm sorry to have you go 
jest when we 've got acquainted, an' it seemed 
as though we 'd get along well together ; but 
if you 're set on farmin', you '11 have to try it, 
I reckon. I 'II stay here an' keep on workin', 
so 's when you get ready to come back there '11 
be somethin' to eat, 'less Skip Jellison succeeds 
in doin' what he counts on." 

" I may drop 'round in a month or two, jest 
to see how you 're gettin' along," Carrots re- 
plied, with an air of condescension; "but of 
course I 'm bound to stay out there a year 
anyhow, when I start in once." 

" When are you goin' ? " 

" To-morrow noon." 

" Come down to South Ferry before you go, 
an' when you get back, Carrots, I guess you '11 
find me at the same place, 'cause trade was 
pretty fair to-day." 

" Oh, you '11 be up 'round City Hall by that 

" It '11 take me longer 'n a week to get things 
straightened out, an' you won't stay there six 
days, 'less you 're a different fellow from what I 
think you are," Teddy replied, with an air of 
conviction that surprised his friend. 

tinned. ) 



By James Baldwin. 

It was not in derision that his master called 
him " Babieca," or " Booby," but by way of en- 
dearment. When you named your own pony 
" Rogue," you did not mean to imply that he 
was a bad fellow, but rather the contrary. 
And I assure you that Babieca was anything 
but a dunce, or foolish fellow, and everybody 
knew it. 

He might have been called the "White 
Arabian " ; for he was of pure Arab stock, and, 
if I mistake not, had been bred and reared by 
Arab masters in the great sandy desert. He 
had been captured in fair fight -with a Moorish 

The capture had happened in this way. The 
king of Seville, at the head of an army of thirty 
thousand Moors, had ridden him to Valencia, 
intent upon retaking that city from the Cid, 
Ruy Diaz, who had but lately won it from the 
fierce Moorish conquerors. It was the young 
monarch's first campaign, and his heart swelled 
with pride as he rode between orchards of 
olives and fields of ripening corn, and looked" 
back at the long line of Moorish chivalry 
which followed him. He thought to drive Ruy 
Diaz and his handful of knights out of Valencia 
would be only the sport of a holiday, and hence 
he had come clad rather in the regalia of a 
king than in the armor of a warrior. And the 
great white horse had trappings of purple and 
gold, with silver bells jingling from the reins, 
and jewels sparkling from the bridle-bands. 
When Ruy Diaz, the Cid, looking out from his 
high tower, saw the state in which his enemy 
approached, he laughed and said : 

" The Moor seems to have come to a tourna- 
ment instead of a battle; but we will run a tilt 
with him that he will not soon forget. And 
whosoever wins shall have Valencia and the 
proud white horse that carries our enemy so 

The next day the Cid went out at the head 
Vol. XXII.— 106. 

of his people, and gave battle to the king of 
Seville in the garden of Villa Nueva. And the 
Moors were routed with great slaughter and 
driven as far as to the river Xucar, where, the 
jocular historian of the battle tells us, " they 
drank plenty of water without liking it ; for 
fifteen thousand were drowned at the ford." 
The king of Seville escaped " with three 
blows," says the chronicler; but he left the 
white Arabian behind. 

Thus it was that Ruy Diaz, the Cid, won 
the steed that was afterward called Babieca, 
or the Booby. 

Not long after this, the Cid sent for his wife, 
Dona Ximena, and his two fair daughters, to 
join him in Valencia. They came, with a 
great company of maidens, and with palfreys 
not a few, and a goodly number of sure-footed 
mules. And attending them were sixty knights, 
all fully armed and mounted upon mettlesome 
horses with bells on their harness, and trappings of 
rich sendal silk. The knights carried burnished 
shields upon their arms, and lances with 
streamers in their hands. Looking out from 
his high tower, Ruy Diaz saw the company 
while yet they were a great way off, and he 
sent out two hundred knights to meet them. 
Then he bethought him of the white Arabian 
that he had taken from the King of Seville, 
and which no man among all his followers had 
yet had the hardihood to mount ; and he 
ordered his grooms to saddle him and bring 
him out. It was a good time, he thought, to 
give the steed his first trial, and at the same 
time show his own wonderful skill as a horse- 
man. It was much as the grooms could do to 
put the bits in Babieca's mouth, throw the 
saddle upon his back, and lead him to the 
spot where the Cid was waiting. 

" Have a care ! " cried the knights and cava- 
liers, when they saw the great horse launching 
out on everyside with his iron hoofs, rearing 




upon his hind feet and pawing the air, and 
snapping right and left with his sharp ivory 
teeth. But Ruy Diaz was not afraid of any 
horse that lived. Clad in light armor, with a 
long surcoat of blue thrown over it, he seized 
the right moment and sprang astride of the res- 
tive animal. Like an arrow shot from a bow, 
Babieca sprang forward; and those who saw 
him were astounded both at the fleetness of his 
running and the skill with which the Cid re- 
strained and directed him. It was a sight 
which none could forget — the great steed 
seeming to fly over the ground, the Cid's blue 
cloak and his long beard streaming behind, and 
then the tameness with which the horse stopped 
at the end of the course, and allowed his rider 
to dismount ! For years afterward everybody 
in Spain liked to talk about that wonderful ride. 
When the Cid had greeted his wife and daugh- 
ters, he remounted Babieca, who was now as 
gentle as a lamb, and rode with them back to 
the city. "Who can tell," says the old chroni- 
cler, " the rejoicings that were made that day, 
throwing at the board, and killing bulls ! " 

Every day Babieca became more and more 
the favorite of his master ; and next to his wife 
and daughters there was no creature living 
that Ruy Diaz loved so well. Many a fierce 
battle with the Moors would have been lost had 
it not been for Babieca; and the fame of the 
white horse was second only to that of his mas- 
ter. But Ruy Diaz was loyal to his liege lord 
King Alfonso of Castile, and it seemed to him a 
shame that he, a mere subject, should ride so 
fine a steed while his sovereign had to content 
himself with a common beast. And so, great as 
the sacrifice was, he offered to give Babieca 
to the king. 

" There is not another charger in the world 
so good as he," said he to Alfonso ; " and who 
shall have the best if not the king ? Ah, but 
if you could only see him go when he smells 
the battle and rushes upon the host of the 
Moors ! " 

With that, he leaped upon Babieca and 
touched him with his spurs. The horse darted 
forward and sped across the plain, so swiftly, 
so fiercely, that those who saw him held their 
breath. Round and round he ran, now this 
way, now that, guided only by a single finger. 

Nobody had ever seen such horsemanship — so 
daring a rider, so wonderful a charger. 

Thus to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, 
He snapt in twain his hither rein : — " God pity now 

the Cid ! " 
" God pity Diaz ! " cried the lords, — but when they 

looked again, 
They saw Ruy Diaz ruling, him, with the fragment 

of his rein ; 
They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and 

Like a true lord commanding — and obeyed as by a 

And so he led him foaming and panting to the king. 
But "No," said Don Alfonso, "it were a shameful 

That peerless Babieca should ever be bestrid 
By any man but Ruy Diaz. — Mount, mount again, my 


To tell of all the exploits of Babieca would 
fill a book. It will be enough if I relate the 
story of the Cid's last ride upon his charger. 
King Bucar, the Moor, had come into the port 
of Valencia with so great an army, that there 
was not a man in the world that could give the 
number of his warriors. Having landed, they 
pitched their tents, fully fifteen thousand, around 
the city and began a siege. But at the same 
time the Cid, Ruy Diaz, lay dead in his own 
house, and his followers were in great straits 
because they knew that they could not hold 
"the place against the vast force of the Moors. 
But the Cid, before his death, had told his peo- 
ple what to do, and they did as he had di- 
rected. They made no outcry nor sign of 
mourning for their dead leader, but defended 
themselves as well as they could from the 
Moorish archers, and, going upon the walls, 
made great rejoicing with trumpets and tam- 
bours, as if sure of victory. But, in the mean 
time, the friends of the dead chieftain who 
were dearest to him embalmed his body, and 
dressed it as though in armor, and set his long 
beard in order, so that no man seeing him 
would have thought him dead. Then they set 
him upon a saddle which had a frame fitted 
into it in such a way as to support the shoul- 
ders and the head and the arms in the same 
position that was taken by the Cid whenever 
he rode into battle. At midnight of the twelfth 
day, they placed the saddle with its burden 

i8 9 5-] 



upon the back of Babieca ; and they put a sur- 
coat of green sendal upon the body of the 
chieftain, having his arms emblazoned thereon; 
and on his head they set a helmet of parch- 
ment, cunningly painted. Then they hung his 
shield about his neck, and placed in his hand 
the sword which he had so often bared against 
the Moors. When all was in readiness they 
opened the gate of the city that was toward 
Castile, and the people of the Cid marched out 
— six hundred in front of their dead leader, and 
six hundred in the rear. They went out so 
silently, that the Moors in their tents heard no 

But a small body of men, chosen to attract 
the attention of the enemy to the other side of 
the city, made an attack upon the camp of 
King Bucar. As the}' set upon the archers 
whose tents were nearest the walls, a great 
panic fell upon the Moorish host. It seemed 
to them that full seventy thousand Spanish 
knights, all dressed in white, were rushing out 
upon them, and they were led by a giant war- 
rior on a white horse, who bore a white banner 

in one hand and a fiery sword in the other. 
So great was the Moors' fear that they rushed 
into the sea in their great haste to reach their 
ships ; and the historian of that event says that 
more than ten thousand were drowned. 

In the meanwhile Babieca, bearing the body 
of his master, and escorted by the twelve hun- 
dred knights, journeyed on by easy stages into 
Castile. And after they had passed beyond 
the territories of the Moors, a great concourse 
of people, and among them Don Alfonso the 
king, came to see once more the great chieftain 
Ruy Diaz, the Cid. But it was not until they 
had come to the Monastery of San Pedro de 
Cardena, that the good horse was relieved of 
his ghostly burden. 

Babieca was already an old horse; but he 
lived two years and a half after that strange, 
sad journey. And they buried him in front of 
the Monastery gate ; and they planted two 
elms upon his grave, one at his head and the 
other at his feet; and these elms, for aught I 
know, may still be seen, marking the last rest- 
ing-place of Babieca, the Booby. 


L -"*4 


" The sentiment of Fear," declared my Uncle Zebedee, 
"Is beneath the recognition of a valiant man. like me. 
I loathe timidity; I scorn a coward; and, oh, dear! 
I should so hate to feel the paltry sentiment of Fear ! 
And in order to prevent it, why, I take some pains at night 
To have the house closed up and barred securely, snug, and tight. 
I should really hate to have a burglar getting in ; and hence 
I have placed alarms at frequent intervals along the fence, 
And on all the doors and windows, and the cat-hole in the shed, 
And the scuttle in the attic roof. Before I go to bed 
I lock and bar the doors, and fasten weighty iron chains 
Across; I don't like burglars, and I therefore take the pains 
To place, as an additional precaution, pots and pans 
At all the doors and windows, and tin pails and empty cans; 
So if a burglar should come in, I 'd wake in time to fling 
My watch and money where he 'd see them on first entering, 
And then just step into the wardrobe, which I have supplied 
With a key with which it may be firmly locked from the inside. 
Thus, by these simple plans, it is indisputably clear 
I shall never feel the despicable sentiment of Fear, 
So far beneath the calm, composed and noble dignity 
Of a brave man such as I am," said my Uncle Zebedee. 

s 44 


I — "I 'll show these landlubbers a thing or two!' 

II — "when she makes too much headway just let go 
your anchor — 




A merry Mongoose was marching along 
By the- banks of the nice old Nile. 

Where the stream was impassable 

He met an irascible, 
Coy old Crocodile. 

Do you think I would eat you, 
That you cover your face with fright ? " 

Then the Crocodile turned and he grinned a grin,. 
Diametrically speaking, a mile. 

But the giddy Mongoose was an innocent 
So he paused for a friendly talk. 
" I must cross the river," 
He said with a shiver; 
" And, really, I don't dare walk. 

" So won't you be kind, and tote me across ? — 
I weigh but a tiny mite. 
You scary old creature, 

And he said, with a sneer or two 
Lit with a leer or two, 
" Carry you ? I should smile ! " 

The Mongoose giggled a sickly gig. 
" Oh, thank you kindly, very ! 
But a grinning facility 
Of such agility 
Does n't make the safest ferry." 



By Theodore Roosevelt. 

IV. — The Cruise of the "Wasp." 

In the War of 1812, the little American navy, 
including only a dozen frigates and sloops-of- 
war, won against the English, till then the un- 
doubted masters of the sea, a series of victories 
that attracted an attention altogether out of 
proportion to the force of the combatants or 
the actual damage done. For one hundred 
and fifty years the English ships of war had 
failed to find fit rivals in those of any other 
European power, although they had been 
matched against each in turn ; and when the 
unknown navy of the new nation, growing up 
across the Atlantic, did what no European 
navy had ever been able to do, not only the 
English and Americans, but the people of 
Continental Europe as well, regarded the feat 
as important out of all proportion to the ma- 
terial elements of the case. The Americans first 
proved that the English could be beaten at 
their own game on the sea. They did what 
the huge fleets of France, Spain, and Holland 
had failed to do, and the great modern writers 
on naval warfare in Continental Europe, men 
like Julien de la Graviere, have paid the same 
attention to these contests of frigates and sloops 
that they give to fleet actions of other wars. 

Among the famous ships of the Americans in 
this war were two each named " Was])." The 
first was an eighteen-gun ship-sloop which, at 
the very outset of the war, captured a British 
brig-sloop of twenty guns after an engagement 
in which the British fought with great gallantry, 
but were knocked to pieces, while the Ameri- 
cans escaped comparatively unscathed. Im- 
mediately afterward a British seventy-four cap- 
tured the victor. In memory of her the Ameri- 
cans gave the same name to one of the new 
sloops they were building. These sloops were 
stoutly made, speedy vessels, which in strength 
and swiftness compared favorably with any ships 

of their class in any other navy of the day; 
for the American shipwrights were already as 
famous as the American gunners and seamen. 
The new Wasp, like her sister sloops, carried 
twenty-two guns and a crew of one hundred 
and seventy men, and was ship-rigged. Twenty 
of her guns were 32-pound carronades, while for 
bow-chasers she had two " long Toms." It was 
in the year 1814 that the Wasp sailed from the 
United States to attack the navy and prey on 
the commerce of Great Britain. Her commander 
was a gallant South Carolinian, named Captain 
Johnson Blakeley. Her crew were almost all 
native Americans, and were an exceptionally 
fine set of men. Instead of staying near the 
American coasts or of sailing the high seas, the 
Wasp headed boldly for the English Channel, to 
carry the war to the very doors of the enemy. 

At that time the English fleets had destroyed 
the navies of every other power in Europe, and 
had obtained such complete supremacy over 
the French, that the French fleets were kept in 
port. Off their ports lay the great squadrons 
of the English ships-of-the-line, never, in gale 
or in calm, relaxing their watch upon the rival 
war-ships of the French emperor. So close 
was the blockade of the French ports, and so 
hopeless were the French of making headway 
against their antagonists in battle, that not only 
the great French three-deckers and two-deck- 
ers, but their frigates and sloops as well, lay 
harmless in their harbors, and the English ships 
patroled the seas unchecked, in every direc- 
tion. A few French privateers still slipped out 
now and then. The far bolder and more for- 
midable American privateersmen drove hither 
and thither across the ocean in their swift 
schooners and brigantines, and harried the 
English commerce without mercy. 

The Wasp proceeded at once to cruise in the 
English Channel and off the coasts of England, 
France, and Spain. Here the water was trav- 





ersed continually by English fleets and squad- 
rons and single ships of war, which were some- 
times convoying detachments of troops for 
Wellington's Peninsular arm)', sometimes guard- 
ing fleets of merchant vessels bound homeward, 
and sometimes merely cruising for foes. It 
was this spot, right in the teeth of the Brit- 
ish naval power, that the Wasp chose for her 
cruising ground. Hither and thither she sailed 
through the narrow seas, capturing and destroy- 
ing the merchantmen, and by the seamanship 
of her crew, and the skill and vigilance of her 
commander, escaping the pursuit of frigate and 
ship-of-the-line. Before she had been long on 
the ground, one June morning, while in chase 
of a couple of merchant ships, she spied a 
sloop-of-war, the British brig " Reindeer," of 
eighteen guns and a hundred and twenty men. 
The Reindeer was a weaker ship than the 
W r asp, her guns were lighter and her men 
fewer; but her commander, Captain Manners, 
was one of the most gallant men in the British 
navy, and he promptly took up the gage of 
battle which the Wasp threw down. 

The day was calm and nearly still ; only a 
light wind stirred across the sea. At one 
o'clock the Wasp's drum beat to quarters, and 
the sailors and marines gathered at their ap- 
pointed posts. The drum of the Reindeer 
responded to the challenge; and, with her 
sails reduced to fighting trim, her guns run 
out, and every man ready, she came down on 
the Yankee ship. On her forecastle she had 
rigged a light carronade, and, coming up from 
behind, she five times discharged this point- 
blank into the American sloop. Then, in the 
light air, the latter luffed around, firing her 
guns as they bore, and the two ships engaged 
yardarm to yardarm. The guns leaped and 
thundered, as the grimy gunners hurled them 
out to fire, working like demons. For a few 
minutes the cannonade on both sides was 
tremendous, and the men in the tops could 
hardly see the decks for the wreck of flying 
splinters. Then the vessels ground together, 
and through the open ports the rival gunners 
hewed, hacked, and thrust at one another, 
while the black smoke curled up from between 
the hulls. The English were suffering terribly ; 
Captain Manners himself was wounded; and, 

realizing that he was doomed to defeat unless 
by some desperate effort he could avert it, he 
gave the signal to board. At the call, the 
boarders gathered around, many of them naked 
to the waist, and black with powder, holding 
cutlas and pistol in their hands. But the 
Americans were ready. Their marines were 
drawn up on deck, the pikemen stood behind 
the bulwarks, and the officers watched, cool 
and alert, for every movement of their foe. 

Then the British sea-dogs tumbled aboard, 
only to perish by shot or steel. The combatants 
slashed and stabbed with savage fury, and the 
assailants were driven back. Manners sprang 
to their head to lead them again himself, when 
a ball fired by one of the sailors in the Ameri- 
can tops crashed through his skull, and he fell, 
sword in hand, with his face to the foe, dying 
as honorable a death as ever a brave man 
died in fighting against odds for the flag of his 
country. As he fell the American officer passed 
the word to board. 'With wild cheers the fight- 
ing sailor-men sprang forward, sweeping the 
wreck of the British force before them, and in 
a minute the Reindeer was in their possession. 
All of her officers and nearly two thirds of the 
crew were killed or wounded. Twenty-six of 
the Americans had been killed or wounded. 

The Wasp set fire to her prize, and after re- 
tiring to a French port to refit, came out again 
to cruise. For some time she met no antag- 
onist of her own size with which to wage war, 
and she had to exercise the sharpest vigilance 
to escape capture. Late one September after- 
noon, when she could see ships-of-war all 
around her, she selected one which was iso- 
lated from the others and decided to run along- 
side her and try to sink her after nightfall. Ac- 
cordingly she set her sails in pursuit and drew 
steadily toward her antagonist, a big eighteen- 
gun brig, the "Avon," a ship more powerful 
than the Reindeer. The Avon kept signaling 
to two other British war-vessels which were in 
sight, one an eighteen-gun brig, and the other 
a twenty-gun ship ; they were so close that the 
Wasp was afraid they would interfere before 
the combat could be ended. Nevertheless, 
Blakeley persevered, and made his attack with 
equal skill and daring. It was after dark when 
he ran alongside his opponent, and they began 



forthwith to exchange furious broadsides. As 
the ships plunged and wallowed in the seas, the 
Americans could see the clusters of topmen in 
the rigging of their opponent, but they knew 
nothing of the vessel's name or of her force, save 


only so far as they felt it. The firing was fast 
and furious, but the British shot with a very 
bad aim, while the skilled American gunners 
hulled their opponent at almost every dis- 
charge. In a very few minutes the Avon, be- 
ing in a sinking condition, struck her flag and 
Vol. XXII.— 107. 


cried for quarter, having lost forty or fifty men, 
while but three of the Americans had fallen. 
Before the Wasp could take possession of 
her opponent, however, the two war-vessels to 
which the Avon had been signaling came up. 
One of them fired at 
the Wasp, and as the 
latter could not fight 
two new foes, she ran 
off easily before the 
wind. Neither of her 
new antagonists fol- 
lowed her, devoting 
themselves to picking 
up the crew of the 
sinking Avon. 

It would be hard 
to find a more gallant 
feat more skilfully per- 
formed than this; for 
Captain Blakeley, 
with hostile foes all 
around him, had 
closed with and sunk 
one antagonist not 
greatly his inferior in 
force, suffering hardly 
any loss himself, while 
two of her friends were 
coming to her help. 
Both before and 
after this, the Wasp 
cruised hither and 
thither, making prizes. 
Once she came across 
a convoy of vessels 
bearing arms and mu- 
nitions to Wellington's 
army, under the care 
of a great two-decker. 
Hovering about, the 
swift sloop evaded the 
two-decker's move- 
ments, and actually 
cut out and captured one of the transports she 
was guarding, making her escape unharmed. 
Then she sailed for the high seas. She made 
several other prizes, and on October 9 spoke a 
Swedish brig. 

This was the last that was ever heard of the 

8 5 o 



gallant Wasp. She never again appeared, and 
no trace of any of those aboard her was ever 
found. Whether she was wrecked on some 
desert coast, whether she foundered in some 
furious gale, or what befell her, none ever 
knew. All that is certain is that she perished, 
and that all on board her met death, in some 

one of the myriad forms in which it must 
always be faced by those who go down to 
the sea in ships; and when she sank there 
sank one of the most gallant ships of the 
American navy, and with her were lost as brave 
a captain and crew as ever sailed from any 
port of the New World. 



(Sixteenth paper o/ the series o/t North American Quadrupeds.) 

By William T. Hornaday. 

The great pasture region of the West is an 
ocean of land. Here and there it lies motion- 
less and unruffled, like a dead calm in the 
tropics. Farther on it swells gently, then rolls 
and heaves in great, smooth billows; and in the 
bad lands you see the broken waves of a tem- 
pest. Like the ocean voyager, who eagerly 
scans the horizon for a sail, a wreck, a por- 
poise, or anything to break the monotony, so 
will your vision search and search for some- 
thing alive and moving in that " gray and 
melancholy waste." 

And then how welcome is the sight of a band 

(An-ti-lo-cap'ra A-mer-i-can'a.) ANTELOPE ! 

To see this pretty prairie-rover at his best, 

you must call upon him during October or 
November. Then his new horns are perfect, 
his new coat of hair is at its brightest and best, 
and after six months of good grazing he is both 
fat and lively. 

Late autumn is the best time of all the year 
to hunt the Antelope. With no snow on the 
ground they are easily seen, but they feel so 
gay and festive that they are very keenly alert, 
and their legs are set like hair-triggers — ready 
to go off at the lightest touch of alarm. 

On the prairie, successful antelope-hunting is 
no child's play. The game nearly always sees 
you first, and retires in good order, but on the 
double-quick, to some high knoll a long mile 
away, from which safe distance you are care- 




fully surveyed by the keenest of eyes. As you 
try to steal up within long rifle-range, the band 
suddenly glides down the side of the knoll, 
seemingly without effort, scurries across the 
next flat, and presently halts on another high 
point at the end of another mile. 

The time was when Antelope had so much 
curiosity and so little sense they could be 
brought up within gunshot by waving a rag or 
ramrod, or wriggling a No. 10 foot in the air; 
but that period has gone by, at least in Mon- 
tana. We tried it repeatedly, but found the 
Pronghorn was not half the fool he had been 
represented. In the broken bad lands, where 
coulees are deep and sharp ridges numerous, 
it is an easy matter to stalk Antelope, and to 
shoot them also — provided you are a good 
shot, don't get the buck-ague, and can judge 
distances reasonably well. 

In early December, when winter sets in, 
and the snow and the snowy owls have come 
to stay, the bands of Antelope collect as if 
for mutual support and protection, and form 
immense herds. In former years, when the 
species was abundant, it was not uncommon 
to find 200 head together, and often as many 
as 600 to 700 have been seen in one herd. 
In the early winter, when the snows are light, 
it is very difficult to see Antelope, and to 
hunt them successfully. Their colors blend 
so perfectly with the snow and sage-brush 
that at rest a herd is often invisible before 
your eyes, and in fleeing from you it sweeps 
away like a dull gray cloud of mist. 

Of all American quadrupeds, no other spe- 
cies fares so poorly in winter as the Prong- 
horn. Somehow nature seems to have omitted 
something from its equipment, and as a result 
the herds fare very badly in the snow. They 
drift before blizzards as helplessly as cattle, 
they sometimes freeze, and often starve, to death ; 
and those that survive the winter come out in 
the spring thin, weak, and weather-beaten. 

In several ways the personality of the Prong- 
horn is really remarkable. As a species, he 
is a native American, wholly our own, and 
constitutes a Family all by himself. These are 
his points of difference from other antelopes: 
(1) He has horns with a prong on them; (2) 
he actually sheds his horns annually, and re- 

news them over a tall, bony core; (3) his horns 
are placed directly over his eyes ; (4) he has 
no "dew-claws"; (5) and he wears a coat of 
tubular hair that is coarse, harsh, easily broken, 
and more like fine straw than hair. 

This creature is the smallest ruminant animal 
inhabiting North America north of Mexico. 
It is nearly as tall as the mountain sheep, but 
it is not nearly so heavy, nor so strongly built. 
Its colors are usually but two in number, 
consisting of a cloak of light yellowish-brown 
thrown over the back of an otherwise white 
animal. On the throat the brown color is laid 
in a curious collar-like pattern, and the old 
males have also a wash of black on their 
cheeks. Taken altogether, with its trim legs, 
compact and shapely body, proud carriage of 
the head, jaunty horns, pert ears, and big, 
bright black eyes, the Prong-horned Antelope 
is a decidedly pretty and " stylish " creature. 
It runs swiftly, but not very gracefully, for the 
head is carried rather low, like that of a run- 
ning sheep. Its flesh is delicious at all times 
save in late winter. 

Formerly the Antelope was abundant through- 
out the whole of the great pasture region lying 
between the Rocky Mountains and the tier of 
States bordering the Mississippi River on the 
west. It still lingers in the States and Ter- 
ritories bordering the Rocky Mountains on the 
east, and in the southwest. Wherever they are 
but little hunted, they soon begin to increase 
in number. But the final doom of this pretty 
and interesting creature is fixed and certain, 
and its total disappearance from our country 
is a question of only a few more years. 

We have in North America two kinds of 
Caribou — the Barren-Ground and the Wood- 
land. For a large game animal that annually 
saves hundreds, if not thousands, of human 
beings from starvation, the Barren-Ground 

Caribou is far too 

BARREN-GROUND CARIBOU. j; ttle k nown . It J s 
(Rarigi-fcr prcen-land'i-cus.) , ■ 

true this creature 
is rather out of our personal range, but that is 
hardly an excuse for the fact that only about 
one person out of every thousand has more than 
the faintest conception of its character, or even 
knows it by name. Inasmuch as this animal 
is to the Yellow-Knife and Dog-Rib Indians, 




a large body of Eskimos, and thousands of 
French-Canadian half-breeds, all that the buf- 
falo once was to our own Indians, both in use- 
fulness and in abundance, it is time for us to 
inform ourselves concerning it. Outside of the 

the buffalo had ever existed in greater numbers. 
Think of it ! Vast herds of big game animals, 
fit for food, alive and unslaughtered in North 
America to-day ! Why this oversight on the 
part of the game-butchers ? Where are the 


sportsmen's journals, and large works on natu- 
ral history, we can almost count on the fingers 
of one hand the descriptive papers that have 
been published in our country about the Cari- 
bou of the far North. And even yet I am 
obliged to state that I have never known this 
animal in its native desolation, and can only 
offer information that has been furnished by 
those who have seen it at home. 

The Barren-Ground Caribou now inhabits the 
Great Slave Lake country, and just eastward 
thereof, not only in thousands, but tens of 
thousands, and it is almost safe to say hundreds 
of thousands! In 1891, when Mr. Warburton 
Pike found himself in the very midst of the 
vast throng of Caribou that were migrating 
southward, he was moved to doubt whether 

hide-hunters, the tongue-hunters, and the grand 
army of greedy game-killers generally ? 

The reason for the unslaughtered condition 
of the Caribou herds of the far North is that 
Jack Frost owns the Barren Grounds, and by 
game-butchers Jack is considered "bad medi- 
cine." As usual, the inhabitants of Caribou- 
land slaughter the herds with sickening waste- 
fulness, whenever they get an opportunity ; 
but thus far the Caribou is holding its own 
fairly well, save in Alaska. 

As its name indicates, the Barren -Ground 
Caribou inhabits that vast plain known as the 
Barren Grounds of North America. It is truly 
the land of silence, desolation, and cold. In 
Canada this country is supposed to begin at 
the northern limit of trees and shrubs, but in 




Alaska, where the warm equatorial currents of 
the Pacific moderate the temperature, the tracts 
of frozen morass encroach here and there upon 
the timbered areas. 

The center of greatest abundance of the 
Barren-Ground Caribou is found at the eastern 
extremity of Great Slave Lake. To-day that 
country is to this creature what the Panhandle 
of Texas was to the American bison in 1871. 
The northern limit of trees may fairly be taken 
as the boundary line between the summer 
and winter ranges of this animal. 

But the range of the Barren-Ground Cari- 
bou is by no means confined to central 
North America. Excepting a fifty-mile strip 
along the coast of Bering Sea, and another 
along the Yukon River, where the creature 

of the great northern archipelago. More than 
this, it is known to have lived along the west- 
ern shore of Baffin's Bay and Smith's Sound, 
as far north as Grinnell Land, where General 
Greely and his men often found Caribou ant- 
lers and bones. Along the Atlantic coast it 
is found eastward of Hudson's Bay, in the 
northern part of the great Labrador peninsula. 
In several portions of its range, it encroaches 
upon the home of the Woodland Caribou, 
and under certain conditions the two animals 
are often classed as one. 

Respecting the Caribou of the Great Slave 
Lake region, Mr. Warburton Pike says that in 
summer they keep to the true Barren Grounds, 
but in the autumn, when their feeding-grounds 
are covered with snow, they seek the hanging 

has been exterminated or driven away, it in- 
habits practically the whole of the main- 
land of Alaska, and is even quite abundant 
within striking distance of Point Barrow. 
Wherever the Eskimos permit, it undoubtedly 
presses on to the icy shores of the Arctic 
Ocean; and it is very probable that at one 
time, even if not recently, it visited every island 

moss in the woods. " From what I could 
gather from the Yellow- Knife Indians, and from 
my own personal experience, it is late in Octo- 
ber that the great bands of Caribou, commonly 
known as La Foule, mass upon the edge of the 
woods, and start for the food and shelter af- 
forded by the stronger growth of pine farther 
southward." Of this great annual migration, 




here is what plucky Mr. Pike actually saw on 
Lake Camsell, about sixty miles north of the 
eastern end of Great Slave Lake. It reads like 
a fairy tale, but nevertheless the account is 
undoubtedly true. 

" Scattered bands of Caribou were almost 
always in sight from the top of the ridge behind 
the camp, and increased in numbers till the 
morning of October 20 [1889], when little Bap- 
tiste, who had gone for firewood, woke us up 
before daylight with the cry, ' La foule ! La 
foule ! ' [The throng ! The throng ! ] Even 
in the lodge we could hear the curious clatter 
made by a band of traveling Caribou. La 
foule had really come, and during its passage 
of six days I was able to realize what an extra- 
ordinary number of these animals still roam 
the Barren Grounds." 

He thus describes the migration : 
" From the ridge we had a splendid view of 
the migration. All the south side of Mackay 
Lake was alive with the moving beasts, while 


the ice seemed to be dotted all over with black 
islands, and still away on the north shore, with 
the aid of the glasses, we could see them com- 
ing like regiments on the march. In every di- 
rection we could hear the grunting noise that 
the Caribou always make when traveling. The 
snow was broken into broad roads, and I found 
it useless to try to estimate the number that 
passed within a few miles of our encampment. 

We were just on the western edge of their 
passage, and afterward we heard that a band 
of Dog-Ribs, hunting some forty miles to the 
west, were at this very time in the last straits 
of starvation, only saving their lives by a hasty 
retreat to the woods. This is a common 
danger in the autumn, as the Caribou, com- 
ing in from the Barren Ground, join together 
in one vast herd, and do not scatter much 
till they reach the thick timber. . . . The Cari- 
bou, as is usually the case when they are in large 
numbers, were very tame, and on several oc- 
casions I found myself right in the middle of 
a band, with a splendid chance to pick out 
any that seemed in good condition. . . . Not- 
withstanding all the tall stories that are told of 
their numbers [the buffaloes'], I cannot believe 
that the herds on the prairie ever surpassed in 
size La Foule of the Caribou." 

The Barren-Ground Caribou is quite similar 
in form and general appearance to the reindeer 
of Europe, and is a much smaller animal than 
is generally supposed. It shows more antlers 
for its size than any other animal now living, 
and they sweep back so far and rise so high 
that they have the effect of magnifying the 
actual bulk of the wearer. And more than 
that, this preponderance of antlers over body 
has also led numerous authorities into the be- 
lief that the antlers of this creature are much 
larger than those of the Woodland Caribou — 
which is not the case, unless you take West- 
ern examples of the latter. 

In weight the Barren-Ground Caribou is 
about the same as our Virgina deer, but it is 
of a different form. It is not so tall as the lat- 
ter, but its legs are larger, and its feet are ex- 
panded into great, flattened bell-shaped hoofs, 
with huge " dew-claws," very sharp on the 
outer edges, and especially designed by nature 
to keep the owner from coming to grief on 
snow and ice. Where the small, sharp hoofs 
of a Virginia deer stab through the snow, and 
leave him floundering helplessly, the broad 
snow-shoes of the Caribou carry him over the 
surface, and enable him to live and thrive, 
snow or no snow. The weight of this Caribou 
is stated to be one hundred and fifty pounds, or 
about one half that of the woodland species; 
but after a careful comparison of authorities I 




believe this estimate is too low. Mr. Pike says 
the woodland animal is one third larger than the 
other, which would show a weight, for large speci- 
mens of the Barren-Ground species, of between 
two hundred and two hundred and 
fifty pounds. Thus far, for very good 
reasons, no hunter has carried steel- 
yards into the haunts of this animal. 

As its very apt name implies, the 

Woodland Caribou prefers to live 

in the woods, 

woodland caribou. t he thicker the 

(Ran' gi-fcr car i-bou.) . T 

better. In- 
deed, the density and impenetrability 
of the forests of northern Idaho in- 
habited by this large antlered creature 
are almost beyond belief. Just how 
an old male gets through thick woods, 
with antlers like an arm-chair on his 
head, I cannot understand; but he 
does it, somehow. The weight of 
large specimens of this species is 
usually from three hundred and fifty 
to four hundred pounds, but some 
times more. 

Speaking very generally, it may be 
said that the range of this animal 
begins where that of his Barren- 
Ground relative leaves off, and ex- 
tends southward, wherever there is 
a good growth of forest, to our most 
northern States. Formerly this state- 
ment was literally true ; but the 
species has been exterminated 
throughout so many settled areas 
that at present it exists only in spots. In the 
primeval interior forests of pine-clad Newfound- 
land the Woodland Caribou still exists in great 
numbers, and large herds are frequently reported. 
It is there, also, that it reaches its greatest size, 
and grows the largest antlers. 

In portions of Labrador and New Bruns- 
wick it is still fairly abundant; but from Nova 
Scotia and northern Maine and New Hamp- 
shire it has almost disappeared before the still- 
hunter's rifle. It is at home around the southern 
end of Hudson's Bay, and James Bay, and is 
still found in the wilder portions of northern 
Quebec and Ontario. Minnesota possesses a 
few around the Lake of the Woods, and Mani- 

toba sportsmen still find them occasionally 
around the northern end of Lake Winnipeg. 
Skipping the treeless pasture region, we next 
find this creature in northern Idaho, north- 


western Montana, and the mountains of British 
Columbia. Strange to say, it is also an inhabi- 
tant of Oregon, in the vicinity of Mount Hood. 
Just where, or to what extent, it is found in 
Washington, I have as yet been unable to 
ascertain; and I would be very thankful for 
precise information. The farthest north of this 
species is the head waters of the Yukon River, 
in southern Alaska. 

Some authors consider this species identical 
with that of the Barren Grounds, and others 
assert that the Barren-Ground Caribou and the 
reindeer of Europe are also one and the same. 
But I protest against this highway robbery of 
our North American fauna, and will maintain 

8 5 6 


to the court of last resort my proprietary rights, 
as an American citizen, in the Woodland Cari- 
bou, at least. They may have their little old 
Barren-Ground Caribou, and call it the Euro- 
pean reindeer, if they like, for it is a great deal 
smaller than our own species, and not nearly so 
handsome ; but they must keep their hands off 

when the snow is hard and crusted ; its wan- 
dering habits; its boy-like love of ice-covered 
ponds ; and its fleetness of foot when thor- 
oughly alarmed. The accompanying illustra- 
tion tells its form, and the shape of its remark- 
able antlers, so eccentric in form that no one 
has ever seen two pairs exactly alike. The 


Rangifer caribou, or there will be an " interna- 
tional episode" at once. The very superior size 
of the Woodland Caribou should of itself be 
sufficient distinction between the two species. 
Of the habits of this strange and interesting 
creature there is no room to tell. A long and 
interesting chapter might be written about how 
it travels over deep snows on its natural snow- 
shoes, leaving enormous tracks; how in winter 
it paws down through loose snow, sometimes 
three feet deep, to get at its beloved reindeer 
moss ; how it lives on tree moss and lichens 

figures that would represent the number of 
variations possible in the antlers of this crea- 
ture would make a procession reaching half- 
way across this column. 

Strange to say, many females of this species 
are provided with antlers. They are not great, 
hulking, heavy ones, but modest, more becom- 
ing antlers, and by reason of their sharpness 
they are decidedly good weapons. The female 
Caribou retains her antlers long after the males 
have grown tired of carrying theirs, and have 
dropped them. 


By Howard Pyle. 

[Begun in the April number, iSq4.~\ 

Chapter XL VII. 


It was not until the Wednesday following 
that Jack and Mr. Simms started down the 
river to Jamestown. Jack's mind was full of 
the thought of Nelly Parker. She had come 
with her father out upon the steps of the house 
to see him off. 

As the boat sailed away in the strong, cold 
wind, Jack wrapped himself up in his over- 
coat and gave himself luxuriously up to day- 
dreaming. He was seventeen years old now. 

How strange it would be to go down to Bath 
Town again, and to see the places he had lived 
in there ! 

" If we have time," said Mr. Simms, " we '11 
stop at the Roost." 

His words broke sharply upon Jack's thoughts, 
seeming to shatter them to pieces. He sat si- 
lent for a while. " Do you think," said he sud- 
denly, " that Mr. Parker 's there, now ? " 

" Why, I don't know," said Mr. Simms; " but 
I hope he is, for 't is he I wish to see." 

" I 'd like to go ashore there," said Jack, 
"but I don't choose to meet him." 

It was a little after noon when they reached 
the Roost. After Mr. Simms had landed Jack 
also got out of the boat. He climbed the 
stairs to the top of the bluff. As Mr. Simms 
went up to the house he stood there looking 
about him. How familiar and yet how strange 
everything seemed to him ! Suddenly, two or 
three negroes came out from behind the end 
of the house, and stood looking toward him. 
Among them was Little Coffee. He called 
him: "Little Coffee! Hi! Little Coffee ! " The 
negroes still stood looking at him. He could 
see that one of the black men spoke to Little 
Coffee and gave hint a push forward. " Little 
Vol. XXII.— 108. 8 

Coffee ! " Jack called again, and this time the 
negro boy came lingeringly down toward him. 

"Who dat?" said Little Coffee when he 
had come pretty near. " Dat you, boy ? " 

" Why, yes, 't is I," said Jack. " Don't you 
see 't is I ? " 

" You be berry fine boy, nowaday," said Lit- 
tle Coffee, standing at a distance and looking 
at him. 

Jack laughed. The black boy grinned. 
" Tell me," said Jack, " is Mr. Parker at 
home ? " 

" No," answered Little Coffee. " Mr. Parker 
be gone away now two week." 

"Why, then," said Jack, " I 'd like to go up 
and see the old place again. Where 's Dennis ? " 

" He ober at de stable," said Little Coffee. 

Jack walked up to the house. 

Everything seemed to Jack to be exactly as 
he had left it, excepting that the leaves were 
all gone from the trees, and that the long,, 
shaggy grass was now brown instead of green. 
The huts and outbuildings and stables, the ne- 
gro children playing about the open space of 
ground, were all just exactly as he had seen 
them last. The negroes stood staring at Jack 
as he passed by in front of the huts. He spoke 
to them, laughing and nodding his head. He 
felt elated with gratification. He knew that he 
showed ripe fortune, and, as Little Coffee had 
said, he was very fine now. 

Dennis was sitting in the shed by the sta- 
bles, mending an old saddle. He looked up 
when Jack came in, as though for a moment 
puzzled. Then instantly his face cleared. 
"Why, lad," said he, "is that you?" He 
slipped the wax-end betwixt his lips and held 
out his hand. 

" Yes," said Jack, " 't is I • and how are you, 
Dennis ? " 

" Why," said Dennis, " I 'm very well. I 've 

S 5 8 



been hearing about your doings, Master Jack." 
He looked Jack over. " And how you have 
climbed up in the world, to be sure ! " said he. 
" They tell me you 're living up at Marlbor- 
ough, now, in glory." 

Jack laughed. " I am living at Marlbor- 
ough," said he; "but I don't live in any 

" Well, lad," said Dennis, " I do hear they 've 
killed your friend Blackbeard. To think of 
your running away from us to turn pirate ! 
Well, you were lucky to get away." He had 
begun sewing again upon his saddle. 

" Yes," said Jack, " I was lucky to get away. 
And how is Mrs. Pitcher, Dennis ? " 

" Oh, she 's very well," said Dennis. " She 
was talking about you only this morning. I 
tell you what 't is, lad, she and his Honor had 
it like shovel and tongs after you ran away." 

" Well, Dennis," said Jack, presently, " I think 
I '11 go over to the house to see her. I 've 
only got a little while to stay. We 're going 
on to Jamestown. I 'm going on down to Bath 
Town, on business for Colonel Parker." 

" Business for Colonel Parker, be you ? " 
said Dennis. " To be sure, you have risen 
then in the world to be going around so on 
Colonel Parker's business. Well, good-by, lad. 
You '11 not mind my not getting up, will you ? 
For I 've got this teasing saddle so far that I 
can't leave it." 

He took the hand that Jack gave him and 
shook it warmly, and then Jack went away 
over to the house, still accompanied by Little 
Coffee. " Wish I run away with you dat time," 
said Little Coffee. 

Some one had told Peggy Pitcher that he 
was about the place, and she was expecting 
him. " Why, Jack," said she, as she looked him 
all over, " what a fine, grand gentleman you 've 
grown all of a sudden ! Well, to be sure, to 
think that I should have seen you that last 
time sitting over yonder in the cell with irons 
around your legs, and so down in the spirits 
that 't was enough to break a body's heart 
to see you — and now you to be grown so fine 
a gentleman, to be sure ! " 

" I tell you what 't is, Mrs. Pitcher," said 
Jack, " I '11 never forget what you 've done for 
me as long as ever I live." 

"Won't you, Master Jack?" said she, evi- 
dently gratified. " Why, now, that 's very kind 
and noble-spoken of you." 

" I don't see that 't is," said Jack. " Where 
would I have been now, do you think, if it 
had n't been for you ? " 

Peggy Pitcher burst out laughing. She sat 
down on a chair just behind her. "Why, I 
don't know," said she. " 'T is like you 'd 
been in a pretty bad way; to be sure, his 
Honor was hot ag'in' you just then." She 
became suddenly serious. " I tell you what 
't is, Master Jack," said she, " things are 
not going well- with him just now. He 's a 
good, kind man, too, when he chooses to 
be so. They do tell me, Master Jack, that 
Blackbeard was killed, and that a lot of his 
men are prisoner down at Williamsburg." 

" Why, yes," said Jack ; " 't is the truth." 

Just then Mr. Simms's voice sounded from 
the outside. " Master Jack ! Master Jack ! " 

" There," said Jack, " I must go now. I '11 
try to see you some time again, Mrs. Pitcher." 
And he gave her his hand. 

" Well," said Peggy Pitcher, as she rose and 
took Jack's hand, " I did n't think I was help- 
ing you into such good luck when I helped 
you to get away that night." 

" Nor I did n't, neither," said Jack. " Good- 
by, Mrs. Pitcher," said he, and he pressed her 

It was the afternoon of the next day when 
the boat reached Jamestown. The men-of-war 
were still lying in front of the town, but Lieu- 
tenant Maynard was ashore. Jack and Mr. 
Simms found him, after some little trouble, at 
the house of Dr. Bullett. Jack waited outside 
while Mr. Simms went to the door to inquire 
for him ; and presently the lieutenant came out, 
with his hat on and his overcoat buttoned up 
around his throat, to where Jack stood. He 
carried his hand in a sling. 

" Well," said he, giving his left hand to Jack, 
" and how does my hero do now ? " The 
lieutenant always called Jack his hero. 

" Why, I 'm pretty well, I thank you," said 

" And so, Jack," said the lieutenant, " your 
old friend Blackbeard is no more. Well, he 

i8 95 .] 


gave me a reminder before he left me "; and the 
lieutenant looked down at his hand. 

" How were you hurt ? " said Jack. 

" Why, naught but a slash across the hand," 
said the lieutenant. " 'T was as hot a fight, 
though, for a while as ever I was in. They are 
as desperate villains as ever I saw in all my life. 
Methought the man would never be killed. 
D' ye know, he was shot in the body six times 
before he fell, and he had over a dozen other 
wounds upon him. 'T was the most deter- 
mined villain I ever saw." 

" They say you brought up a lot of prisoners 
with you," said Jack. 

" Ay," said the lieutenant, " there were 
seventeen surrendered, and one of 'em we 
found up in Bath Town — a lame fellow named 
Hands. He was the sailing-master. He had 
been shot in the leg, and was not well enough 
to be with the others." 

" Where are they now ? " asked Jack. 

" Why, they 're over at Williamsburg," said 
Mr. Maynard. " Would you like to see them? " 

" Why, yes, I would," said Jack. 

" Then," said the lieutenant, " we '11 go over 
there to-morrow, if you choose. What time do 
you start for Bath Town ? " said he, turning to 
Mr. Simms, who stood by while he talked. 

" Why, sir," said Simms, " I 'd like right 
well to go to-morrow morning; but I '11 stay 
until the afternoon if your honor and Master 
Jack want to go over to Williamsburg." 

" That 's what I 'd like to do," said Jack. 

The next morning Jack and Lieutenant May- 
nard rode over to Williamsburg. They went 
straight to the jail, and were admitted by the 
turnkey. He took them at once to where the 
prisoners were. 

They were all crowded together in one room. 
At first Jack could hardly bear the heavy, 
musty smell of the place. The prisoners them- 
selves were altogether unconscious of it. Many 
of them were wounded. One man, with a cloth 
tied around his head, looked very pale and ill. 
Others also showed marks of the battle — an 
arm in a sling or a bandage here and there. 
They looked unkempt and forlorn. 

" Why, 't is Jack Ballister ! " cried one of 
them. " Why, to be sure, that is who 't is." 


It was Ned Salter who spoke, the young man 
who had been shot in the shoulder